


Broken Crown

by dragonartist5



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben Solo Needs A Hug, F/M, Foul Language, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con (Later Chapters), Original Planets, Post TLJ, Reylo - Freeform, Sex, implied sex, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 98,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonartist5/pseuds/dragonartist5
Summary: "You’re the only one who can save Ben Solo. But I need you to see that I haven’t given up on you. You have a home, here. With me. Ben, come home.” Rey says. “Come home.”He shakes his head.“I can’t.” He says.





	1. The Bond

**_Rey_ **

She dreams of an ocean. As vast and infinite as the Jakku sand, stretching for miles and miles. She's never seen so much water. The horizon is one, sharp line that slices open the sea, the sky. The salty air kisses her eyelashes, stirs the strands of flyaway hair that frame her face. Sea birds call to one another, riding the wind. She's floating.

She dreams of an island, a rocky shore. Here, the waves are unsettled, scraping against the rocks, growling like a chained beast. The birds stay close to the island. Craggy outcrops of stone serve as nesting grounds, for them. The island, itself, has a song of its own. It beckons her. There's a pull. A struggle.  There's something she's supposed to see.

She dreams of a boy. A broken boy. Lost, full of doubt and fear. His long, dark hair falls into his eyes, and he shakes it away in irritation. Splashes of freckles dot his pale face. His face, full of angles and sharp edges, is tight and pained. He sits, poring over a datapad. He turns his head, sharply, and his eyes, dark and deep, land on her face. His eyebrows knit together and a flicker of recognition crosses his face. He opens his mouth, begins to speak. But the sound of waves and the calls of sea birds, drown his words.

She sits up, fists clenching around the sheets. She draws a shaky breath, staring into the darkness, trying to gather her bearings.

The dream is familiar in the same way a childhood bedroom is familiar. She pinches the bridge of her nose, struggling to remember it, but the edges are fading.

_You dream of an island_

Ahch-To. She hasn't returned to Ahch-To, in dreams or otherwise, since she left, Jedi Texts stuffed in the cargo hold, prepared to turn herself in to the First Order if it meant she had a chance to turn him, to look him in the eye and tell him

_You're not alone_

_I'll help you.._

_Let me in._

_Please._

Ben.

Rey slips out of the sheets, sweat clinging to her skin, hair falling in loose strands around her face. She draws her arms around her torso, shivering as her bare toes skim the cold, tiled floor of her compartment. There are no windows in the underground barracks, only a thick, steel door and a bunk. Rey kneels beside the bed and reaches under the mattress, carefully extracting a thick, old book.

It's the first volume of the Sacred Jedi Texts, stuffed in her bedding for safekeeping. She doesn't have any reason to suspect someone would steal her belongings, but she's still every bit a scavenger. She's used to thieves and pick-pockets and raids in the dead of night, all too common on the desert wasteland she once called home. Old habits die hard, she guesses. She tucks the book under her elbow and settles herself, cross-legged, on the tiles at the foot of her bunk.

She spreads the book across her knees, feeling its weight, heavy and comforting. She runs her hand over the cover, sighing, trying to rid herself of the clammy, twitchy, breathlessness—remnants of the nightmares that plague her sleep, these days. She swallows the lump in her throat and presses the heels of her palms over her eyelids, drawing deep, steadying breaths.

It's been three months since the Resistance forces landed on Hoth, an icy planet in the Outer Rim. They escaped here, after Crait.

Rey rubs a spot above her right eye. She resents the cold. After spending nineteen years in the scorching desserts of Jakku, settling on Hoth requires quite the adjustment. Of course, temperatures dropped during the long nights on Jakku, but nothing compares to Hoth's constant below-freezing atmosphere.

They're occupying Echo Base—what's left of it, anyway. The Alliance set up temporary headquarters here, during the rebellion. It's miserable and frigid, but as good a base as any, at the moment. The blizzards and bad weather keep the First Order at bay, and there's little risk of exposure. It's unlikely the First Order would ever find them here. Rey shivers, imagining the large, triangular shadows of their dreadnaughts, drowning the sun's pale rays—a housewarming gift, courtesy of Kylo Ren, yours truly.

A familiar tug, like the vibrations in a spider's web as it catches a breeze or some unfortunate insect, flickers at the edges of her consciousness. Rey freezes, stomach sinking.

Ben.

The intrusion is inarticulate, almost lazy, even for him. It's a restless, fleeting shadow, followed by a flash of irritation and resentment and something else she can't quite pinpoint. She frowns, annoyed, and drives him out, slamming the door on his prying claws. He doesn't pursue, quickly withdrawing as if she'd physically burned him.

She keeps her eyes closed, pushing air in and out of her nostrils, calmly and carefully taking the time to build up her walls, to reinforce the barriers she's built, over the years. Barriers to keep him out.

She turns her attention to the text in her lap, knowing sleep will continue to evade her, no matter how long she tosses and frets in bed. She pushes Ben into the farthest reaches of her conscious, peering at the pages, worn and crinkled with age. She's all but given up trying to decipher the texts, realizing, rather quickly, the futility of the task.

 _So, why do you stash them under your bed? Why do you spend hours poring over them, in the dead of night? Why do you persist?_ A voice chides, from the shadows of her mind. She sighs, running her finger along the spine.

 _Any advice?_ She thinks, dully. For a moment, Luke's presence is with her, in the room. She glances around, sensing him. He's near, in spirit, and , the warmth of his energy envelops her body like a caress. It's brief. The sensation passes—a light, winking out—leaving her empty and cold and somehow more alone, than ever.

In the aftermath of the Battle on Crait, word of Luke's standoff with the First Order spread throughout the rest of the galaxy. Their numbers grew, capping at three-hundred. Avengers of the weak, the poor, the hopeless. Ex-Stormtroopers, and deserters of the Empire. Refugees, pilots, Force-Sensitives, scavengers galivants, vagabonds, heroes, pirates, criminals, and smugglers. Broken people, lost people, all looking for a path. A place. A home.

A month passed. And another.

And life went on.

Rey trains. She fights. She follows orders. She meditates, searching for a guiding light, for a purpose. There is only silence, and an ache in her heart that cuts deeper with each passing day. And Ben lingers at the back of her mind, as steadfast and bothersome as a flea.

Rey's gut wrenches, unpleasantly.

She hasn't held a proper conversation with him—one that doesn't end in tears or insults or both—since she shut the door of the  _Falcon_  on his face. Something happened, then. Something broke. She built a wall between them, trying to block him out, trying to forget that mysterious  _something_ between them. She tells herself it's better, that way. But she's not so sure. It's easier said than done.

He's still there, lingering. Watching and waiting, seeking out a chink in her armor. Like a predator, stalking a herd of prey animals, selecting out the weakest, most promising target. It's like walking around with his eyes constantly burning holes in the back of her head. He's obsessive, relentless, battering at the walls around her mind, bellowing, demanding to be let in.

She wounded him, by refusing his hand. He's angry.

She gave him a chance. Multiple chances, to make his choice. The  _right_ choice. To turn, to bring Ben Solo back from the darkness. She'd been hopeful, that night. She'd been  _so sure_  he'd turn. But he'd proven her wrong. There's no going back to the way it was, whatever it was. She has friends, a family, here. She can't risk putting them in danger to save a monster. It's time to let him go.

He won't let her.

He's always there, slipping through the cracks in her mental barriers when she slips up, when she forgets to keep herself guarded. She gets flashes of a world that's not her own, and it's like she's seeing through his eyes, if only for a moment. Fragments of thought, of speech, float across the bridge between their minds at times.

His emotions bleed through, easiest of all. She's not even sure it's intentional. A rush of  _something_ —anger, fear, longing—filters through the bond, so strong and raw and full of pain, it steals the breath from her lungs, dragging her into a world of hate and anger and pain that isn't her own. And she's drowning.

Rey leans back, closing her eyes.

He's pulling her into his orbit, chaotic and raging, burning like the sun. His presence is strong, in the quiet and peace of her own thoughts. She's got a strange sense of him. It's almost intimate. Even lightyears away, she knows more about his current thoughts and state-of-mind than she should. She can't help it. She's drawn to him, like an insect to light.

He spends fitful nights tossing and turning, trying to rid himself of visions and nightmares, as she is. He's angry, constantly. He's confused, and alone, and it bleeds into Rey—a dark, throbbing undercurrent, battering at the insides of her skull like a headache that won't go away.

Rey massages her temples, staring at the foreign symbols scrawled across the pages in her lap, trying to force them into a coherent thought, something resembling  _anything at all_. She flips through the pages, groaning.

_You're upset._

The sentiment floats across the bond, unbidden.

 _Get out of my head._ Rey pushes back, hard and fast, and he's gone, leaving a flare of anger in his wake. She takes a breath, unsettled, and bends over the pages, again, trying to rid her thoughts of him and thinking of nothing else.

She made her choice when she shut the  _Falcon_ 's door in his face.

They're fighting on opposite sides of a war that stretches back to the beginning of time. The light. The dark.

The balance.

She felt it, sitting at the cliff by the sea, on Ahch-To. The ebb and flow. Life, death. There's always a balance. It's the driving force. It holds the galaxy together. She knows it because she  _feels_ it. She knows it just as she knows there are stars in the sky.

She'd felt the Force, even in her youth. She's sure it had been there, inside her, like a slumbering beast. It had been there, when her parents sold her to Unkar Plutt, a slaver and junk and weapons trader, on Jakku. It had been there, as she carved a life for herself, hiding out in a fallen AT-AT on the outskirts of the Nima Trading Post, scavenging for pieces, trading every scrap of metal for a bite to eat. It had been there, as she grew up, competing with traders and slavers, escaping capture, fighting off thieves and rapists and gamblers and desert creatures, living by the day, by the portion. It had always been there, a lamp, as much a part of her as her own hand.

When she left Jakku, when he pushed into her mind and she pushed into his, it came awake. When she fought beside Ben Solo, the imbalance became balance. The chaos became order. And she felt . . .  _whole._

But allegiance and circumstance left them standing on opposite sides, again. Enemies. As if he hadn't fought by her side. As if he hadn't protected her, hadn't killed his master for her. As if he hadn't offered her the galaxy.

He refuses to join the light, and she, the dark. And there's no way, under a thousand suns, that either of them would ever put away their differences, for good. They're star-crossed, in every sense of the phrase.

She sees his outstretched hand, his tear-stained cheeks, his agonized, pleading eyes. Her heart does a funny little somersault, in her chest. What would've happened, if she'd taken his hand? What could've happened . . .

 _I couldn't,_ she thinks.  _It doesn't matter. He made his choice, and I made mine._

No. She can't do this, anymore. She can't spend another night agonizing over the choice she made, that day, her refusal to take his hand. She thinks of the sleepless nights she spent, in the aftermath of the battle on Crait. Guilt plagued her, for pressing the button that closed the door that severed what little hope remained to bring Ben Solo back to the light. Anger, at Ben, for turning away, for believing his choice was made. Despair, over the truth about her parents. And hopeless, burning  _want._ Because she wanted to feel like  _something_ , to someone.

She misses the Ben Solo she met in the hut on Ahch-To. The man who, with tears shining in his eyes, listened to her and felt he could be vulnerable with her. The man who touched her, like no one had ever touched her before. The man who defeated the loneliness she'd carried with her, the entirety of her short life.

She can't shake the memory. Fighting beside him, every thrust of her blade mirrored with one of his, as they cut down Snoke's Praetorian Guards. Every breath, matched and mirrored. The  _power_ coursing through her body, in that moment. In that moment, everything fell into place. Like she'd spent her entire life confined to darkness, only to have her face pressed up to a sunlit window.

How can she stay, how can she fight this war, when everything is telling her that where she belongs isn't on Ahch-To or Hoth or Jakku, but beside Ben Solo, wherever he is?

Rey closes the book with a frustrated sigh, rubbing her eyes. She replaces it inside her bedding and crawls on top of the sheets, pulling her knees up to her chest. She stares at the shadows on the wall, willing sleep to claim her. As always, it dances out of reach.

In the dark, the quiet, she can feel the Force-Bond enveloping her mind. She can feel him, an ever-present ghost, silent, just  _there._  He's not trying to invade. In fact, he's relatively unguarded, and Rey suspects he's asleep, or close to it. She feels the familiar weightlessness, about him. The serenity, before the fall. The drifting. She bites her lip, damning her curiosity, and reaches out, dipping a toe into the shadowy pools of his mindscape. And it feels like home.

Unable to stop herself, she dives in, letting herself float, riding the current of his dreams. His presence lingers in the spaces between the stars, in the cracks and crumbling pieces of her.

The thought is strangely comforting.

**_Ben_ **

He sits in his chamber, poring over a datapad, flicking through pages and pages of reports and numbers, all blurring together. He rubs his eyes, stifling a yawn, mind wandering away from him. He dreamt of her, last night. Ceaseless, exhausting dreams, tainted with desire and heartache. Her face changes, in his dreams. It's darker, thinner. Sick. He wakes, weeping, ashamed.

Exhaustion weighs on him—his limbs, his eyelids, his thoughts. It's difficult to concentrate. Ben grunts, frustratedly. He doubts Snoke ever reviewed  _finances._ And Hux insisted . . .

In his dream, a phantom Rey drove a lightsaber through his chest. He begged her to do it, kneeled before her, clutched at her cape with trembling fingers. He felt the blade enter his body, felt it pierce his bones, and the heat, the scent of cauterized flesh . . .

A flicker, in the corner his mind. The Force's pull. And she's there. Ben looks up, freezing, eye locked on her face. She crouches, low to the ground, dressed a overlarge fur coat and goggles. She's shivering, knees pulled tight against her chest, mittens balled into fists and resting against her chapped lips. Her face is hidden by the goggles and the hood. She's not looking at him.

Ben's breath snags in his throat.

There's snow caught in the wisps of stray hair around her face. A layer of white coats her shoulders, tangles in the fur of her hood, and flurries of it flicker in and out of sight.

Rey's gaze is fixed on something in the distance, something he can't see. She doesn't notice him. Or, if she does, she doesn't acknowledge he's there. A muscle jumps, in Ben's jaw. He clears his throat, softly, unable to stand the silence, any longer. Rey jumps, scrambling to her feet. She whips around, wildly, fear pulled tight around her eyes. She catches sight of him, and freezes. She's pale, almost transparent, save for the color burning high in her cheeks. There's snow in her eyelashes. A pitiful noise, something between a whine and a groan, grows in his throat. He swallows, averting his gaze. Rey's eyes flick to the ground, then back. He can feel her eyes on him. She turns on her heel and marches off without a word. He lunges for her, catching her wrist in his hand.

"Rey, don't . . . " He says. She whirls around, furious, eyes alight with the same disgust and resentment evident in her face that night in the forest, and again, in the rain . . .

_You're a monster._

"Let me go!" She hisses, pulling away, wrenching out of his grasp as if he'd burned her. He opens his mouth, to protest. Before he can get two words out, the hum of the bond fades, and Rey disappears. Ben blinks, resenting her absence. The image of her face, pinched and twisted with hatred, flashes before his eyes. It stings, like a slap across the face. And he can't even find it in himself to be angry. He's just empty.

She has no idea, the effect she has on him. The way she can bend his heart, break it, without ever lifting a finger. He knows he could never hurt her. Not if she begged him. He can't, and he won't.

He raises his hand, touching the scar on his cheek.

_You're a monster._

Snoke had taken hold of him so long ago, when he was still a child. Children are impressionable, easily bent one way or the other. It would've been  _easy_ , for Snoke to sink his claws in, to take root and grow like a weed, whispering in his ear, bending his will.

The years passed, and Snoke's influence remained. Leia sensed it.

His parents fought, and, too often, his father fled, unable to face the darkness that was already festering inside his son. Ben watched him go, seething, hating his father.

His mother wept when Han left. She was always so strong, so unshakable. She wasn't supposed to cry.

He went to her, held her hand. Hastily, she wiped her tears away and put up her walls, and an unspoken, unacknowledged distance grew between them all. His family was breaking apart before his eyes and he didn't know how to stop it. In the dark, private moments, he sobbed into his pillow, so very alone in the world. And the voices in his head were welcome company.

On his fifteenth birthday, his mother suggested he train with his uncle, Luke. That fight had been one of the worst, in his memory. He remembers his father, falling dangerously, deadly silent, before erupting. He shouted, red in the face, spittle flying from his lips. His mother's voice rose, to match Han's, until they stood on opposite sides of the room, screaming insults at each other. Ben excused himself to his room and slipped down the hall, barely holding back tears.

He hated it when they fought. He couldn't remember a time when they hadn't.

The shouting stopped, and Ben winced as the door slammed. He heard the  _Falcon_ 's engine hum to life as his father fled. He could hear his mother crying, softly, attempting to hide it from him. He stayed in his room, contemplating going to his mother, holding her. He didn't. He stayed in the dark, feeling more alone than ever, back pressed against the wall, letting the tears fall, struggling under the push and pull, the light and dark, tearing him apart. And always, the voices, ripping into his mind like clawed, wild beasts. Snoke's voice. Snoke's presence, hiding in the shadows, singing him a twisted sort of lullaby.

By the time his sixteenth birthday approached, he'd begun his lessons with Luke. He did it because his mother wanted it, but some part of him wanted it, also. The Force had always been inside him, and he needed guidance, he needed a teacher.

He wanted power. He wanted to feel that raw, wild, uncontrollable energy coursing through his veins. It was already inside him, rising and falling like waves. It heightened his every sense, every emotion. It was a drug, and he craved it.

Even then, he was a bomb, a short-fuse, waiting to go off. He felt everything too deeply. He'd never been good at controlling, channeling his emotion. The anger and fear and rage and hatred always rose and rebounded inside him, trapped, with nowhere to go. His temper bubbled at the surface, and the smallest things had the potential to set him off.

The energy, the power, inside him grew steadily out of control. He felt it, and grew to resent the way he needed it, desired it. He hated the chaos inside him. Even then, he felt it. He knew it was there. And it scared him. The burning, toxic  _want_ , the thirst for power.

The two halves of him battled, relentlessly, each trying to best the other. Ben was ashamed; he suspected he was already becoming the monster his mother had sensed—feared—before she sent him away in a last, desperate attempt to save him.

 _Save me,_ he thinks, angrily.

Under Luke's instruction, he embraced the light, thinking if he trained hard enough, if he listened to Luke, he could snuff out the darkness inside him. But Snoke's influence ran too deep, already.

During his training, as he sparred with the other Force-Sensitives under Luke's watchful eye, he felt the darkness rear its ugly head, felt the wildness, the chaos, rush to the surface. He went too far, once. He injured one of his peers, badly. He'd run away, into the woods surrounding the temple, tears streaming down his face. He'd unloaded all the anger, the self-loathing, drawing his saber, slicing and cutting, and decimated an entire grove of Uneti trees before Luke found him and consoled him. He trusted his uncle, admired him, even, before . . .

Before.

Ben woke, to the familiar hum of a light saber, and turned to see his uncle's frenzied, frightened eyes boring into him. The green glow of the saber reflected in them, he remembers. And something broke inside him. Something shifted.

He remembers white-hot, burning rage, overwhelming him, drowning out everything else. And he exploded. He remembers Snoke's triumphant cry, his open, waiting arms.

Snoke's cold, cruel laughter echoes in his ears as he stares around the empty room.

He'd given Snoke everything, and Snoke had treated him like a child. Like a plaything. Something to be molded and manipulated, and, eventually, cast away.

Now, Snoke is dead. Luke is dead.

He's free.

Snoke occupied his mind, bending his will, for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like. His thoughts are entirely his own. His choices, his intentions, his will, are all his own. All his life, he'd been a puppet. A slave.

Now, he's free. And he's finding himself terribly unfit to lead the First Order. He thought things would change. He thought he  _wanted_ this _._

Something shifted within in him, the moment he ignited the lightsaber that ended Snoke's reign. Perhaps, before that, when Rey's fingertips brushed against his own, and everything fell into place.

Maybe, maybe . . .

He could be different.

Somehow, he's afraid. What is he, if he's no longer Snoke's puppet? What is he, now that he's free?

_I'm Ben Solo._

He imagines Rey, the look in her eyes, the soft, tender kindness, when she said that name,  _his_  name. The way she looked at him, like he  _mattered_. . .

She'd come to him, after her vision in the mirror, at a time when she'd been so scared, so vulnerable. And she'd looked at him without any hate, any resentment. It had been so long since anybody had looked at him like that, like he was something more than a monster.

He'd begun to think of her as an . . . ally. If not an ally, a confidant. Until she abandoned him. She'd failed him, as his parents had failed him. As Luke failed him.

He stares at the wall, where she'd been crouching, just seconds ago, disgust and pity and loathing bleeding across the bond, leaving no room for him to guess how she felt about him. She didn't even try to hide it.

_You're a monster._

He'd made himself vulnerable, before her. He'd defended her, protected her with his life.

And she left him.

To burn.

And the worst part is, he doesn't hate her.

**_Rey_ **

Rey settles on the tiled floor of her compartment, practicing simple breathing exercises, toying with the concept of meditation. A handful of times, she's able to sink into her own mindscape. She can see the Force moving around her, can feel it humming in her veins like a second heartbeat. She welcomes it, harboring the energy within herself. She can see the web of life, the little pinpoints of light and dark in the space between all things. Ben's presence is particularly strong in the web, a powerful, magnetic beacon of alternating light and darkness.

Today, she's struggling. Every time she catches a thread of concentration, it's snatched away from her. She keeps her eyes shut tight, focusing on the movement of air through her nostrils, trying to surround herself with the Force's energy, blocking everything else. It's futile.

Ben's restless. She can feel his strings vibrating, like the struck chords of an instrument. She catches glimpses of the world through his eyes, the sleek, black corridors of a First Order ship. The thick, wet mess of anger and fear and longing in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Up and down, up and down, in endless circles. He's pacing. He's plotting and planning, working something out. Rey shudders, at the thought, not daring to imagine what sort of thing he's got in mind. Another Starkiller, maybe.

Rey sighs, giving her head a shake, imagining an infinite procession of ocean waves, a tide, letting it tow her away from reality and towards the Force's third space, like Luke taught her.

"Rey."

She keeps her eyes shut, trying to ignore the pressure of his eyes boring into her. She bites down on her lip, hard.

" _Rey_." Ben hisses, drawing nearer. Rey's heart flutters, in her chest. She shoots him a sideways glance.

"Get out." She says, quietly. He ignores her, and she can feel his probing thoughts, like claws, prodding at the boundaries around her mind. She withdraws, snatching her thoughts from his grasp.

"You're running." He says. Rey forces herself to meet his gaze. There's fire behind his eyes. "You're afraid. Why?"

"Get out." She says, again, ignoring his question.

"Answer me." He commands, sharply. Rey rolls her eyes, ignoring him. He steps closer, towering over her. Rey stands from the bed, drawing herself to her full height. Nevertheless, he dwarfs her.

"I don't take orders from you, Ben." She snaps. I'm not one of your puppets." She snaps.

"You're shutting me out. Stop. Let me in." Ben says, and his face, impossibly, softens. "Let me in, Rey." His voice is quiet, almost tremulous, and Rey finds herself drowning in his eyes.

"Why?" Rey says, heavily. "You killed . . . killed Han, Luke . . . You're a murderer, Ben."

"You're still calling me 'Ben'." He says, intrigued. Rey searches his face.

"Because I believe in the man, not the monster." Rey says. Ben barks a harsh laugh.

"A horrible idea." He drawls, eyes moving the length of her body. His gaze hasn't left her. Not once. Rey folds her arms over her chest, naked in her clothes, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"What do you want?" Rey asks, keeping her tone measured and careful, trying not to betray her unease. His eyes swallow her whole.

He's selfish and cruel. He wants power, over her. He wants to scare her, get into her head. That's the reason he's here.

He ignores her question, wetting his lips with his tongue. Rey's heart beats faster.

"We could've ruled the galaxy, together." Ben says. Rey laughs.

"Rule the galaxy? What does that mean, exactly? Another Starkiller? A world governed by fear and cruelty and violence? I can't join you, Ben." Rey snaps. Ben's lip curls.

"A galaxy without vanity, and hypocrisy. Without the Jedi Order, and the Sith. A  _balanced_  world. A  _peaceful_  world." Ben retorts, nostrils flaring.

Rey scoffs. "What do you know of peace?"

"Enough."

"How many people will die, before you get what you want?" Rey asks, quietly.

"I will do whatever's necessary."

Rey shakes her head, disdainfully.

"I'm sorry, Ben." She says. "Men of war don't create worlds of peace. I can't join you."

"This isn't about  _peace_!" Ben bellows, slamming his fist against the wall of the compartment. Rey steps back, reflexively, breath snagging in her throat. "This is about  _you and me_." He hisses. Rey meets his eyes, taken aback. Ben swallows, curling and uncurling his fist. His eyes contain small storms of brooding, billowing anger, but there's something else, too. Something soft, almost tender. It catches Rey completely off-guard. He sighs, heavily, and closes his eyes. When he reopens them, the anger is gone. "This is about  _us."_

Rey swallows, clenching her fists, trying to stop the shaking in her hands.

"You told me I'm nothing." She says, quietly.

The hard edges disappear from his face. There's no anger, no hatred. Just a man, scared and broken. His eyes flit to the floor, and back to her face, holding her gaze. Rey's shocked to find his eyes are filled with tears.

"I was wrong." He says, and his voice trembles. "You're everything."

**_Ben_ **

He holds her gaze, and blood rushes in his ears. He watches her face change from irritation to puzzlement to pity to grief and back in a split second. She sighs, eyes dropping to the floor.

"Goodbye, Ben."

And she's gone. The Force-bond's energy ebbs, and he's alone.

His gut wrenches, and his heart sinks to the floor. Ben bites into his cheek. He slams his fist against the wall, feeling the skin of his knuckles split. He fists his hands in his hair, tugging. He draws a breath, forcing oxygen into his lungs.

Two stormtroopers round the corner, chattering, plastic armor clanking. They freeze, in their tracks, peering at him. The taller of the pair nudges the other, inhaling sharply.

"Supreme Leader, are you alrigh—" His words cut off, sharply, as Ben thrusts his palm towards the trooper, clenching his fingers into a fist. The trooper's blaster clatters to the floor, and he claws at his throat, at the invisible hand cutting air from his windpipe.

"Leave me." Ben hisses, dangerously, swaying on his feet. He releases his grasp, and the trooper falls to the floor like a ragdoll. He climbs to his feet and slinks away, spluttering. The companion hurries after him, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

**_Rey_ **

Finn stands and brushes the snow from his pants, shivering. He stuffs a pair of binoculars in his pack and pulls his jacket tighter, around him.

"It's freezing as  _balls_ out here." He groans, grimacing. Rey nods, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. They start walking, following their footprints back to the Echo Base. They've been scouting the perimeter for the past couple hours, checking the radio towers for incoming signals and keeping an eye on the surrounding area.

"I mean, why couldn't we shack up on a tropical island base, or something? No wampas or blizzards or snot icicles, just sandy white beaches and ocean and sun." He says. He gazes at the snowy hills, wistfully.

"Sand?" Rey asks, frowning. "Not a fan."

Finn cracks a grin. Rey meets his gaze, struggling to keep a straight face.

"You're telling me the Jakku scavenger queen, herself, doesn't like  _sand_?"

"It gets everywhere _._ " Rey says, defensively. "And I mean,  _everywhere_." She makes a face. Finn shrugs.

"Well, if not a tropical paradise, what?"

"Rain." Rey says. "Green."

They reach the crest of a snow bank. Rey spots the base, and the watch tower, just outside the hangar bay doors. She and Finn trek through the snow. A Resistance soldier waves at them, calling out a greeting. Rey waves back, and follows Finn through another, hidden door behind a shelf of ice, leading into the base. They enter, sighing as the door slides shut behind them, and warmer air hits their faces. Rey peels off her coat and mittens, pushing the goggles up on her head. She touches Finn's elbow.

"I'm going to the 'fresher. I'll meet you in the dining hall in an hour, alright?" She asks. Finn nods, shoots her a thumbs-up. Rey hurries down the hall and into the barracks. She enters her compartment, peeling off her clothes, and runs a bath.

She sinks into the warm water, sighing as it begins to ease the aching in her limbs, the stiffness. She scrubs her scalp, letting the dust and sweat drain out of her hair and pores, humming an old nursery rhyme.

She touches the bruises and scars on her skin. The thin, white scar on her jawline, the one she got fighting a Teedo over a piece of scrap metal that was worth twenty portions, and kept her fed for weeks. The flowering bruises along her skin, products of the hours she spends in the small gymnasium on the second floor, practicing with her quarterstaff. The healing slash across her right shoulder, the doing of Snoke's Praetorian Guard. She runs her fingers over the stitches, wincing, and a flood of memories cascade into her mindscape. She climbs out of the bath, lost in the heat of the battle. Fire and blood, crackling lightsabers—twin blades, mirrored and matched, perfectly synchronized, and the rush . . .

"Rey."

She freezes, gaze landing on him, and it takes a moment for the realization to sink in. When it does, she pales, squeaking in protest. She snatches her towel from the floor and hugs it to body, trying to conceal herself from his view. But it's too late. He saw everything. Blood rushes to her cheeks, and there's a ringing in her ears, distant and faraway.

"You evil, sick, perverted, son-of-a-bitch!" She screams. Without thinking, she grabs a bar of soap from the rim of the tub and hurls it in his direction. Ben flinches, raising his arm to block the blow. It bounces off him and lands on the floor with a dull thud. She sucks in a breath, chest heaving, wanting desperately to sink through the floor.

Modesty wasn't a priority on Jakku. Most people owned only the rags on their back. Where people fucked each other in broad daylight, rolling in the sand. Like animals without a care in the world, drunk, lustful, and dirty. Where whores and prostitutes hung around bars and pubs, and Rey scavenged to avoid becoming one of them. Those girls with bruises and vacant eyes . . .

But with him, somehow, it's different. Rey clutches the wall, for balance, trying to soothe the heat in her cheeks. She glances around, searching for something else to throw at him . . .

"Rey." He says, again. She doesn't meet his eyes, knowing if she does, she'll burst into flames. She turns her attention, instead, to the hairbrush, lying on the edge of the sink, preparing to hurl it straight at his stupid face.

"Rey."

" _What?_ " She hisses.

"I didn't mean to, you know, see you . . . er, like this . . ." He stammers. Rey steals a glance at him. He, too, blushes profusely, face and ears stained bright red.

"Well, you did." She says, flatly. "And I ought to, er, get dressed. So . . ." She says, dumbly, unable to form a coherent thought. Too embarrassed to be properly angry at him.

"Why are you shutting me out?" He asks, again, brows knitting. Rey scoffs.

"You know why." She says, grimacing.

Ben frowns. "I offered you the galaxy. I saved your life. And you left me to die."

"You chose the dark side, Ben!" Rey says, voice rising an octave. "You were going to kill my friends!"

"Thieves and rebel scum." Ben shoots back, irritated. "They're not worthy of you. You don't belong to them. You belong to  _me_."

Rey falls silent, closing her eyes. She almost pities him. Almost.

"I don't belong to you, Ben."

"Yes, you do. The Force is connecting us for a reason, Rey. You can't run from me. You're  _mine._ "

Rey shakes her head. She's beginning to realize the enormity of the situation. He's a toddler, struggling to win possession over a plaything. He knows nothing of friendship, of trust. He knows nothing of love. And Rey can't help him.

"No, I'm not. Nobody belongs to anybody, Ben. We choose who we follow. We choose who we're loyal to, who we trust. I'm not a trophy. I'm not a slave." Rey sighs. "These people, they're my friends. I chose them because they care for me, and they love me. And I trust them."

"I care for you." Ben spits. There's a note of desperation in his voice.

"No, you don't." Rey says. "You want to own me. That's all."

"Lies!" Ben screams, lip curling. Rey frowns, standing her ground, fingers clutching the threadbare edge of the towel.

"Show me." Rey says. "If you care for me, truly, you've got to convince me." She glares at him. "And you can start by trying not to spy on me while I'm naked!"

"I wasn't spying." Ben mutters.

Rey sighs, irritated.

"I'd rather not talk about it." She pauses. "I think you should leave."

Ben blinks, hurt.

"Rey," he begins, but the connection breaks. Ben winks out of sight. Rey stands there, staring at the spot where he'd vanished, mind racing. She rouses herself, blinking, and hurries out of the refresher. She dresses in gray pants and tunic, and wraps a long, black cloak around her shoulders. She brushes out her long, damp hair and sticks it in her usual bun.

In the dining hall, she finds Poe, Finn, and Rose seated across the hall, at the end of a long table. She hurries over to join them, slipping onto the bench beside Poe.

"Rey!" Poe says, happily, around a mouthful of bread. "How's it—" He stops, mid-sentence, frowning. He swallows. "You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Rey cocks an eyebrow, waving him off.

"I'm fine. Just hungry."

Finn laughs, dumping his mashed potatoes onto her plate.

"Eat up, then. We've got plenty."

She's able to work her way through a meal of potatoes and salad and stew without dwelling on Ben. She listens to Poe Dameron's tales from various missions to the far corners of the galaxy, laughs when Finn cracks jokes, and warmth spreads through her body. She gazes at them, her friends, full and light. Despite the indecipherable Jedi Texts, the looming threat of the First Order, Ben Solo, and the war inside her head, she's happy. She belongs. She's home.

**_Ben_ **

He sits in his chambers, a bottle of hard liquor sitting on the table, before him. He tips it back, taking a swallow, wincing as the burning liquid slips down his throat. He blinks, staring around the room, blearily. He stifles a burp, chuckling to himself. He's a mess. Oh, gods . . . He's reached the end of the line, hasn't he? Everything is dust. And he's lost. He laughs, again, takes another gulp. He wipes his mouth, setting the bottle on the table with a loud  _clunk_. The worst part is, he's not drunk.

He can't get Rey out of his head. The image of her body, unclothed, dripping wet. Perfect hips and breasts and glittering eyes . . . full of fire. He bites his lip, ashamed, fingers clenching into fists. The memory is seared into the folds of his brain tissue. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her. There's a monster, in his chest. A beast. Sniffing the air, hungry. . .

He's despicable.

His gaze flicks around the empty room, wishing she were with him, now. He wants to touch her, wants to plunge his hands in her hair, wants to trace her skin with his fingertips, his lips. He finishes the contents of the bottle, properly disinhibited. He stumbles to bed, tossing and turning, before succumbing to a fitful slumber.

He dreams of her, like always. She lies, naked, pressed against him, their bodies slick with sweat. She touches him, says his name, over and over, into his skin. She kisses him, in ways he never knew a person could be kissed.

He wakes, alone and broken, tears running the length of his face.

**_Rey_ **

Rey dreams of the island, again, that night. She's standing on the rocky shore, and the tide washes over her boots. The salty air stings her nostrils, and the sea birds ride the wind currents in large, lazy circles. Rey watches the tide, eyes following the line where the sky ends and the sea begins. She blinks, and the ocean becomes sand. Sand, that stretches for miles beneath a bleeding, red sun. The tide washing over her boots is sand, as well, and she begins to sink. Rey tugs her foot free, scrambling to find solid purchase. Instead, she sinks to her knees. The more she struggles, the quicker she sinks, until the sand reach her chest and she can't move her legs. She screams, calling for help, and the sand fills her mouth. She gazes at the sky, fear coursing through her veins. A shadow appears, above her, blocking out the sun. She coughs, the sand clinging to her tongue, her throat, squinting at the figure. It's a man, in a mask. Kylo Ren. He tilts his head, regarding her.

"Ben." She coughs.

He grabs her, around the shoulders, and hikes her out of the sinking field. She falls to her knees, coughing. She spits, on the ground, saliva caked with sand. She wipes her mouth, looking at the masked man. Kylo Ren looks at her.

"Rey." He says. The modulator muffles and warps his voice. He kneels, beside her, and removes his mask. Where Ben's head should be, there is nothing. The body crumples, to the ground, and it's just a heap of clothes. She scrambles to her feet, turning, and she's no longer standing on Jakku's desert sands, she's standing in a cave. A cave, with a mirror . . .

She steps toward it, heart beating in her throat. She reaches out, fingers brushing along the cold, cloudy glass. Cracks appear in the glass, spreading from the places where her fingers touch the mirror. The cracks deepen, and the glass shatters.

She wakes, with a start, breath snagging in her throat. Her fingers clutch the sheets, and she whips around, staring into the shadows. Ben is there, standing at the foot of the bed. He regards her, thoughtfully. There's no hardness, no anger in his face. The bond is alive, humming with their shared energy. She senses curiosity, within him, and a overwhelming urge to look inside her head, to travel among her thoughts and turn them over in his hands. And beneath all that, a flicker of worry. Compassion, buried in the deep, dark reaches of him.

"You talk, in your sleep." He says, tilting his head. "You said my name."

"Did I?" She says, feigning indifference. She bites her lip, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.

"You dream of an island. And the mirror, it isn't done with you." He says. "I saw it, too."

"Ahch-To." She says. "The First Jedi Temple, the mirror . . . I see it, every night. In dreams." Rey pauses, glancing at her hands, folded in her lap. "It feels real. More than dreams. Premonitions, or visions . . ." She wets her lips. "I dreamt these dreams as a child, too. I saw the island." She looks at him, and he stares back. His eyes are soft, his face incredibly open, vulnerable. Like the night on Ahch-To, in the hut, when their hands touched. When she felt like he was the only person she'd ever felt like she could talk to.  _Really_ talk to. Like he was the only one who truly understood her.

"I saw you." Her voice is barely a shiver.

"I saw you, too." He says. He steps closer, and his hand jerks, as if he means to touch her. He thinks better of it, for his hand returns to his side, limp and defeated. Before Rey registers what she's doing, she scoots over, on the bed. Making room for him, maybe. Shifting her weight. When he draws closer, takes a seat on the bed, his eyes never leave her face. His nearness, the sound of his breath, his unwavering gaze, sets every hair on her body standing on end. Her heart flutters, like bird wings, in her chest. Rey prays to the gods he doesn't notice the effect he has on her, doesn't realize he can provoke this kind of reaction in her with an act as simple as looking at her, sitting beside her.

"I saw you. A girl, in rags. A girl, cloaked in darkness. Alone." He pauses. "When I saw you in the woods, on Takodana, I knew you were the girl I dreamt of, for so many years. When I looked inside your head, what I saw only confirmed my suspicions. Our fates are entwined, somehow. The Force is pushing us together. We can't sever the bond. We can't run from this. Rey," he says, taking her hand. She flinches, resists the urge to tear it away. Instead, she looks at his face, finds herself drowning in the tide of his gaze. "It'll keep drawing us together, in one way, or another." He blinks, drawing a shaky breath. "I don't want to run from this."

Rey tugs her hand out of his grasp.

Why did you do it, Ben?" She asks, quietly.

"What?" Ben withdraws.

"Why did you turn away, from the light? There's still good inside you. I can feel it. I know it as I know my own name. They're wrong. Leia, Snoke, all of them. You're not lost to the dark."

He winces.

"I-I'm . . ." He begins, and falters. "You think you can fix me."

"What?" Rey says, taken aback.

"You think you can change me. You think you can make me into some light side Resistance pet. You think I'm going to jump through hoops for you. You're wrong. I can't change. I don't  _want_ to change." He says, fiercely.

"Ben . . ." Rey starts, defensive. "I. . . I'm not . . ." She starts, and trails off, helpless.

"I'm not an obligation, Jedi." He spits. "Consider yourself relieved of whatever righteous duty you think you're fulfilling by redeeming me." He spits.

"Ben . . ."

"I don't need your pity." He snaps, bitterly, and laughs. It's a cold, cruel sound. Rey withdraws, letting go of his hand. He presses on, feeling the darkness pulsing inside him, feeling the anger, the rage, coursing through his veins.

"That's right, Ben." Rey cries, fiercely, eyes flashing. "I pity you. I pity you, because you're stubborn and selfish. And it's exhausting, befriending someone who refuses to change!"

"Befriend?" Ben cries, incredulous.

"In case you haven't noticed, you don't exactly have a fan club. And you could probably use a friend, for a change!" Rey yells.

"We're supposed to hate each other." Ben snaps. "We're supposed to be enemies."

"No." Rey says, and her voice cuts through him. A sharp, swift blow that stops his tongue in its tracks.

"Why?" He asks, huskily. Tears glitter in his eyes. "Why don't you hate me?"

It would be so much easier if she hated him. He wishes she'd scream at him. He wishes she'd  _fight_ back. It was so much simpler when she was trying to take his head off. But then, nothing about her has ever been simple. She's a series of strange contradictions, a paradox, an enigma. She's fiery and passionate where the Jedi are not. She's a splash of color in world of black and white, and he can't pin her down.

"Because I . . . " She starts, and falters. "There's light in you. I can see it." She pauses. "And I can't stand by and watch Ben Solo wander through the dark, on his own, when there's a chance he could return."

Ben scoffs.

"You rejected me. You tried to kill me."

"I wasn't going to kill you."

Ben rolls his eyes.

"I didn't have a  _choice_ , Ben." Rey says, before he can retort. "I couldn't let my friends die. I'm no Jedi, but I'm not a monster."

He recoils, stung.

"That's not what I meant." She says, dumbly. Ben stands, going to the door.

"I know exactly what you meant, Rey." He says, and there's no anger, nor hate, behind his words. Only emptiness.

"Ben, don't do this . . ."

He wrenches the door open and tears down the hall, letting it slam behind him.

She stares after him, guilt eating at her gut like poison.

If she'd just learn to shut her stupid, blabbering mouth . . .

But she didn't. There's no taking it back, now.

Hot, stinging tears spring in her eyes and spill onto her cheeks. Angrily, she wipes them away. She wants to slap herself, for being so silly and girlish. For falling to tears every time they speak. She hates the way he can get a rise out of her so easily. He can elicit such pain and anger in her. He can bend and twist her will, to his liking. And she  _hates_ it.

She seizes one of Jedi Texts, a large, heavy tome, and throws it at the door, curses spilling from her mouth. A custodial droid taps on the door, beeping concernedly.

Rey doesn't sleep, the rest of the night, plagued by guilt and the image of Ben's torn face, in the dark.

_**Ben** _

**_Ben_ **

Ben decimates an entire army of training dummies, one after another. He's in the gymnasium normally used to train and condition Stormtroopers. He's alone with his rage, though. He swings his saber in an arc, cutting a dummy right down the middle. It falls with a defeated  _thud_ , fizzling, raining sparks on the tiled floor. He doesn't pause, shifting his weight, pulling off an extremely difficult three-quarter turn, throwing his arm out for balance. He plunges the saber through the next dummy, all the way up to the hilt, then pulls it out, spit flying from his lips.

Sweat pours down his face, stinging his eyes. He pushes a lock of dark hair out of his face, chest heaving. He cuts down another pair of droids, thoroughly enjoying himself. He's glad for this outlet, this channel. He pours his rage into every stroke, every maneuver, rewarded with the hiss of melting metal and the pop and fizz of sparks as the dummies fall to the floor.

He imagines what this would be like if he was fighting alongside  _her_. Rey.

When they fought the Praetorian Guards, he was so sure of every movement, every stroke. He could feel her energy moving freely within his body, his mind. The Force had been  _singing_ , alive with their combined energies. She'd held her own surprisingly well, considering her minimal training. She was strong, skilled.

Ben allows himself to imagine what it would be like to mentor her, to show her the Force. The light side and the dark. The Jedi and the Sith. Are they so different, really?

She's stronger than she knows. Together, they'd be  _invincible_.

He laughs, coldly.

She doesn't want him. She doesn't care for him.

He's a monster.

He swings his saber, cutting a large slash through the nearest wall. His muscles coil and tense, and blood rushes to his face. The fight goes out of him, and he steps back, panting.

She'd offered him a path to the light. What did she expect?

 _Can't she see?_ He thinks.  _I can't._

She chose her path, and it's not one he can follow. He can't throw this away. Not after he'd given everything to the dark.

Even if he did leave, if he deserted the First Order, where would he go? It's not like he can waltz into the Resistance base, demanding forgiveness, expecting them to take him in with open arms. They'd imprison him or torture him or kill him, possibly all three. He'd given the orders that decimated their army, the entirety of their fleet. He'd personally tortured and killed several of their soldiers, in cold blood. He'd murdered his own father, a Resistance ally, a friend. There's no forgiving what he's done.

_No._

He can't go back.

Ben stows his lightsaber away and leaves the gymnasium, making his way to his quarters. He'd exhausted both his mind and body. He's got a mind for only two things: a hot shower and rest. He need to gather his bearings, to take his mind of Rey. It's an impossible feat, really.

He's so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the squadron of Stormtroopers approaching him until blaster fire sings by his ear, missing the right side of his face by inches.

He stops in his tracks, facing his attackers. The troopers are led by Phasma's successor, Captain Rigel—a big, brutish man dressed in sleek, black armor.

"Seize him!" Rigel cries, firing again.

Ben draws his lightsaber in one fluid motion, charging at the oncoming Troopers. He strikes the nearest man, and the saber sinks deep into his chest, all the way to the hilt. He coughs, spattering Ben's face with blood, and collapses. Ben pivots, blocking the oncoming advances, and cuts down two more enemies. He seizes one, around the shoulders, and uses the limp body to deflect the blaster-fire.

The Force moves through Ben and his attackers, linking them. He knows exactly where each blow will land, where the lightsaber finds its home, buried in the chest or neck or head, separating limbs from bodies.

He finds cold, cruel pleasure in killing. He gives himself over to the Dark, balancing his rage and fear with precise, learned maneuvers and confidence, trusting in the Force and in himself. He was built for this—the heat of the battle, the fine line between life and death. Every second makes the difference between survival and defeat, and it invigorates him. His heartbeat rings in his ears, and the Force hums in his body, his fingertips.

Soon, Rigel is the sole survivor of the squadron. Ben thrusts his palm out, drawing the man towards him. Rigel's weapon clatters to the floor. He struggles against Ben's grasp. Ben closes his fist, red clouding his vision. He can almost hear Snoke's cackling, cruel laughter. Rigel claws at his throat, gasping for air.

"Who ordered the attack?" Ben demands, spit flying from his lips. He rips the man's mask away, tossing it against the wall, where it hits the floor with a dull  _thud_. Rigel shakes his head, refusing to speak. Ben growls, tightening his grasp on the man's throat.

"Who?" He asks, again, though he's already certain of the answer. Ben passes a hand over Rigel's face, extracting the information as easily as he would steal a toy from a toddler.

"Hux." Rigel gasps, face turning a rather ugly shade of purple. "General Hux."

Ben's lip curls. He should've foreseen Hux's intent. Hux  _despises_  him, distrusts him. He's always been a power-hungry, blundering fool. It's only right that he would lead a mutiny, without Snoke to stop him. It's so like him, to send some other fool to do his bidding. Hux would never risk getting his hands dirty.

Ben releases Rigel and the man falls to his knees, spluttering and gasping. Ben straightens, sweeping past the man, fuming. He climbs into the elevator, punching the correct floor without thinking.

He finds Hux on the bridge, in harried conversation He storms into the room. Hux turns. The sight is almost comical. The fool's face turns from white to red to purple and back in a matter of seconds. Wild fear glints in his eyes, and he cowers, scrambling backwards.

An invisible fist closes around his throat, and Hux falls to his knees. Ben approaches him, drawing his lightsaber. He towers over the General, holding the weapon against his face. Hux screams as the blade presses into his cheek.

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't kill you, here and now."

"I-I don't know what you're . . ."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your men tried to kill me. I should kill you and be done with it. You're just a fool. Fools are dangerous." Ben growls, furious.

"Ren, please," Hux begins, eyes wild with fear. "I was wrong, I . . ." Ben presses his lightsaber against his cheek again, and he screams. Around the room, people watch with frightened awe, not daring to move. It would've been easy to hear a pin drop, if it weren't for the sniveling, sobbing man on his knees for the entirety of the First Order's leadership to witness.

Ben relents, giving Hux time to gather his bearings. He's toying with the idiot, and thoroughly enjoying himself.

"You've lost." Hux wheezes, and Ben cocks an eyebrow, disbelieving something so ballsy could ever come out of his mouth. Yet, here they are. Hux presses on. "I've heard the whispers. The rumors. Some say you're, dare I speak it, a  _Resistance Sympathizer_."

"Your people mistrust you, resent you. You're losing the support of the First Order. Kill me, and nothing stands between you and a full uprising. You're too busy sniveling over your mother and father, the rebel scum you call family, to see past your own nose. You're weak. You're  _powerless_ , without me."

Ben bites the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. After everything he'd given the First Order . . .

This is how he's repayed? With deception and lies and mutiny?

He won't stand for this. He can't let a fool sit here and bark insults into his ear.

Ben glares at Hux, imagining all the wonderful, terrible ways he could kill the man, here and now. He can't. If what Hux says is true (and Ben knows it is, at least, in part) killing him would be a grave misstep. Better to give the man a friendly reminder of his mistake.

Ben raises his saber and slashes a cut across Hux's face. The man screams, falling to his knees, pressing his hands to his face. Blood gushes between his fingers. There's a gaping, bloody mess of tissue where his eye should be.

Ben straightens.

"Watch your step, General."

He turns toward his audience, stowing his lightsaber in his belt. He glowers at them.

"Would anyone else care to challenge my authority?" He says, coolly, voice dangerously low.

He enjoys watching their faces pale, fear flashing in their eyes, like trapped animals. Most shake their heads, slinking backward. The fear in the room is tangible. Ben laughs, and the sound is ugly, strained.

"Good."

He sweeps across the room, ignoring Hux's muffled cries, cloak billowing behind him. He steps over the threshold, and the door slides shut behind him.

_**Rey** _

Rey elects to skip breakfast. She sits in her chambers, the first volume of Jedi Texts splayed on her lap. Ben lingers, in her thoughts, today. She takes a breath, steeling herself, and reaches across the bond.

He pushes back, expelling her from his mind, and pain flares in her temples.

_Get out!_

It's not so much tangible words than a fleeting feeling, accompanied by a swell of conflicting emotions, sadness and anger and reproach. She sits back, trembling, and her head throbs, painfully. She wraps her arms around her torso, trying to sort herself out.

The door to her compartment opens, and Finn enters, carrying a tray of leftover pastries, from breakfast, and a mug of caf.

"Rey, I thought you'd en—" He pauses, catching sight of her, and the smile slips off his face.

"Hey, you okay?" He asks, gently, crossing the room. He touches her shoulder, lightly.

She nods and opens her mouth, intending to assuage his concerns, and bursts into tears. He sets the tray on the edge of the bed and wraps his arms around her. She clings to him, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, and the sobs that tumble from her mouth are strangled and ugly.

"You're okay, Rey. Hey, it's okay." He says, alarmed. She clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle the sobs. He takes a seat on the bed, and the mattress dips a little with the added weight. He rubs a hand over her back, and his embrace steadies her. She takes a few, hitching breaths and mops her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She gasps, pulling away. She wipes her nose on her sleeve.

"Sorry? You've nothing to be sorry for." Finn says, gently. "What's wrong?"

She looks at him, her best friend, and her heart breaks, a little.

"I can't . . . I can't tell you." She says, uneasily. Finn's brow furrows.

"You can't . . . Why not?"

She stares at her hands, clasped in her lap.

"It's complicated."

She expects him to get angry, to press her, to yell. He doesn't. He just pulls her into his arms, again.

"When you're ready to talk, I'll be here." He says, and his words are enough to prompt a fresh wave of tears.

It's not fair. He's always been by her side. He's the reason she's anything but a dirty scavenger, wallowing in dust and spare parts, growing old and wrinkled under the desert sun. His trust, his support, has never wavered. Friends shouldn't keep secrets.

But she doesn't have a choice.

**_Ben_ **

He knows she's there before he even turns his head. She's standing in the empty hallway with her arms crossed over her chest, face drawn and unreadable.

"Ben." She says.

He turns, facing her. He clenches his fists, expecting to feel something, rage or resentment. All he feels is exhaustion. How long has it been since he'd slept? Two days? Three?

She approaches him, boldly, stupidly, and her hand finds his cheek. A bruise blossoms high on his cheekbones, where a trooper struck him. He stiffens, jerking away from her touch.

"I'd rather not do this." He says, tiredly.

"You can't run from me forever, Ben." She says. Strange, the roles are reversed.

"This bond is irritating in the best of times. It would suit us both to ignore it."

"Funny, I didn't hear you complaining when you were spying on me, in the refresher. You really ought to guard your thoughts more carefully." She says.

Ben fights to keep his composure, but his face betrays him. He feels the telltale heat in his cheeks and ears and knows he must be blushing. He longs for his mask.

"You think I'm nursing a silly schoolyard crush? You think I want a dirty scavenger rat?" He laughs, harshly. "You're naïve."

"And you think  _I_  want a dark-sider?" She screams, and clenches her fists. "You're a coward! You're scared. You're running from yourself, Ben. You're so desperate to kill the past, but it's the very thing that could save you." She glares at him. "You think everything's about you. It's not!" Rey screams, chest heaving. "You're despicable."

Her anger pulses through him. He probes the bond, curiously, sorting through her thoughts. Fragments of insults and curses, thrown at him, entwined with resentment and anger, dark energy.

"Get out of my head!" She growls, and pushes against his mind, driving him out. He pushes back, blood rushing in his ears, and a spark of electricity jumps between them. A reel of images flash through his mind, so fast it makes him dizzy. She's in his mind, picking through his memories ruthlessly, wreaking havoc.

He sees her, in the snow, lightsaber poised above her head, ready to cut him down. He sees her, as he does in dreams, lips brushing against his skin. He sees her, rain soaked, kissed by firelight, reaching out to him with her fingers outstretched, eyes wide and tender, almost pleading.

"No!" He yells. With one, fluid motion, he severs the connection, wrenching his mind from her grasp. She starts, as if he'd shocked her.

"Ben . . ." Rey starts. He grabs her wrist, drawing himself up to his full, considerable height, so that he's towering over her. He glares at her, watching a flicker of fear chase through her hazel eyes.

"Ben Solo is weak." He growls, and a film of red blooms over his vision. She's so close, his nose brushes her cheek. "You've no right to call me by that name."

She wrenches her arm from his grip.

"I'm beginning to think you enjoy the torture. You're only hurting yourself. You can make things right." She says, and her face softens. "But you're the only one who can make that choice,  _Ben_." She puts emphasis on the word, spitting it in his face.

He draws away, regarding her with eyes like cold steel.

"I've made my choice."

He turns his back on her, sweeping down the corridor, leaving her staring after him.

"No!"

Ben sits up, fighting to draw a breath. He runs a hand over his face, staring into the darkness. His eyes sting, his cheeks and pillow dampened with tears. He'd wept, in his sleep. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shake the terror. It was a nightmare. The essence of the dream is recurring, but the faces change. He stands on the bridge, holding his saber, trembling with the push and pull. He can feel the two sides of him, battling, each pulling at the other. He can feel his pieces cracking, splitting open.

_I'm being torn apart._

He hears the words, an echo, a ghost. The saber hums to life, and he watches his victim's face, bathed in scarlet light, as the life leaves their eyes. Sometimes, it's his father, his mother. Tonight, it's  _her_. Rey. The light's chosen one.

His equal.

His enemy.

He laughs, but the sound is like broken glass.

Ben stands, pulls a cloak over his shoulders, and crosses to the window, gazing at the stars. He can't shake the nightmare. He sees her face, sees the fire in her eyes, as he drives his lightsaber through her chest, feels her fingers tracing his cheek. His skin reacts, to her touch, as if he's been shocked. It's akin to the feeling he got the moment their fingers touched, in the hut. Electricity. Energy. A shift, in the Force.

He knows he could never hurt her. Not if she begged him. He can't, and he won't.

He worries his lip, gazing into the endless black abyss, dotted with countless stars and systems. He casts himself among them, adrift with the tide of his thoughts. And the nightmare . . . he relives it, every time he closes his eyes.

Her hand brushed against his face, almost lovingly, as she drew her last breath. He only watched, frozen and shaking, tears staining his face, as she fell, lifeless, over the edge of the bridge.

He pictures her face, her eyes. The way the conflict, the battle, inside him ceases, for a moment, when she says his name. Not Kylo Ren. That's a lie. A facade.

 _Ben_.

"Ben Solo." He tastes the words, balancing them on his tongue.

_Ben Solo is foolish, weak._

The smile disappears. Snoke's voice echoes in his head, rebounding, a thousand times amplified. He tenses, breath snagging in his throat.

_You must destroy him._

"No." Ben says, staring into the dark. He can feel the pulse of dark energy inside him, snuffing out the light. He can't breathe. He needs to get out . . .

His feet carry him towards the door off their own accord. He tears down the hallway, cape billowing in his wake.

He doesn't have a destination, nor does he pay attention to the direction he's headed. He makes a left, then another, wandering the base. Snoke' voice echoes in his head, snapping at his heels like a beast as he sprints through twisting, tiled hallways. Ben claps his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut.

When he opens them, he finds himself standing in the center of Snoke's throne room, trembling, a strangled cry building in the back of his throat.

The  _Raven_  was Snoke's former flagship, before the Supremacy was designed as a mobile base for the First Order. It, too, is equipped with an elaborate throne room.

He forces himself to take deep, gulping breaths of air, trying to quell the desperation, the fear, bubbling in his chest.

He can't turn to the light. Not after everything he's given to the dark side. It's not an option. If he turns to the light, if he walks away from all this. Everything he's built . . .

It would've been for nothing. It would've all been in vain. The thought alone is enough to send him into some dark, twisted place inside his head, of which there's no escape.

 _This is the side I chose_ , he tells himself, running his hand over the arch of the throne, feeling the cool metal kiss his fingertips.  _This is the right path, the only path._

He's never been less sure of anything in his life.

He screws up his eyes, trying to ward off the flood of emotion, memory, threatening to break through the cracks in the barriers he'd built, over the years. He screams as his walls crumble, and a thousand images flash in his mind, memories and thought fragments that burn themselves into the backs of his eyes.

Snoke's presence, in his mind. Whispering, taunting, weaving intricate lies as carefully and patiently as a spider weaves its web. He clung to every word. He bared his soul to that ghost in shadows. Snoke listened. He was the only one who ever did. His parents were too busy screaming insults at each other, across the house, to ask him what he wanted.

The eyes of the students, no,  _friends,_  he murdered, the night he fled Luke's temple. They stood up to him, defended their beloved master, and he cut them down. He drove his lightsaber through their bodies, one after another, felt the life leave them. The light inside him dimmed, as he danced his blood ballet. His lightsaber bled bright red.

His own blood, sparkling on tiles, as he knelt before Snoke. His master's servants beat him, kicking and punching until a flowering of bruises painted his skin varying shades of red and purple. Until his lip was split, and his thighs quivered from kneeling for so long. Until the blows they landed left scars running the length of his body.

He tried desperately to quell the fear, rooted in some deep, primitive part of his brain. He tried, so hard, to extinguish the pull to the light. He didn't have a sanctuary, even in his own head. Snoke's presence tainted his mind. The voice in his head berated him, taunted him, pulling him apart with cruel precision, as a child would pull wings off an insect. Slowly, Snoke pushed him farther and farther into insanity. Carefully, efficiently, Snoke created the monster called Kylo Ren.

Ben comes back to himself, kneeling on the tiles, shaking with the effort to close the floodgates, to stop the swell of memories from driving him completely, irrevocably insane.

His whole life had been a series of lies. He jumped through hoops for Snoke, thinking— _believing_ —that if he proved himself, if he followed orders, he would earn Snoke's approval. He'd surpass Snoke, himself, and carry on Vader's legacy. That he'd finally feel . . . whole. That the war inside him would end. That the wounds would heal, and the pain would give way to peace. But Snoke beat and bent Ben Solo, shaped him into the monster called Kylo Ren, used him up, until there was nothing left but a shell of a man. And Snoke intended to discard him, once he'd ceased to serve a purpose, like he meant nothing. Like he was nothing.

Blood seeps from the slit his teeth makes in the skin and trickles into his mouth, staining his teeth. He keeps biting, and the pain only fuels his fire. He draws his lightsaber, igniting it, and raises it above his head.

"You're wrong." He tells his phantom master, running his tongue over his bloodied lips.

He decimates the throne, cutting and slashing, tearing it apart. The Force pulses around him like a heartbeat, ringing in his ears. He lets his rage take control, blinded by it. It obliterates everything else. It hurts, and he's  _so_  angry. He can barely breathe.

He stops, tears streaming down his face, blood running down his chin. He extinguishes the lightsaber and throws it among the wreckage, stepping back. He draws a shuddering breath, feeling exhausted and weak but cleansed, better than he's felt in a long time. In his mindscape, phantom Snoke shakes his head, in disapproval.

"Kylo Ren is dead." Ben says, and pure, drunken elation rises in his chest, replacing the chaotic rage. He smiles. An insane, manic smile. Light glints in his eyes. "I killed him."

He falls to his knees, and weeps.

**_Rey_ **

She meditates in her room, shut away, with nothing to do and nowhere to be. She lies on the sheets, staring at the ceiling, floating in the gray area between waking and sleep, reality and dreams blurring together. Fragments of voices, thoughts, reach out to her in this void her mind has created. Energies shift, ebb and flow, around her. She opens herself to the Force, letting it move and flow through her body, embracing it like an old friend.

The deeper she moves into the energy's net, the more she can feel a disturbance, a pull, a shift. It's  _him_. Ben.

She holds her breath, taking a moment to pick through the tangled mess of other energies and fragments of thought, trying to get a clear picture of him. His energy pulses with emotion, blurring and bleeding. Desperation. Fear. Exaltation.

It's seductive in its strength. He's pulling her towards him, and she's helpless to resist it. It's a strong undercurrent, white-hot and raging, like the sea.

She opens her eyes, and he's there, kneeling a few yards from her bed. She jumps to her feet, stiffening, defensive.

He looks . . . different, somehow, wild and disheveled. Tears stream down his face. He doesn't look up, doesn't meet her eyes.

She winces as the dark, conflicted energy surrounding him hits her like a wall. She dawdles, frozen and floundering.

"Ben?" She asks. "What happened?" She asks. He's in pain, warring with himself. She can feel it through the Force, feel the darkness and turmoil swirling around him. This isn't Ben Solo. This is Snoke's broken toy.

She wants nothing more than to reach for him, to hold him in her arms.

He lifts his chin, slightly.

"Ben . . ." Rey says, again. She approaches him, slowly, resting a hand on his shoulder. His eyes flicker to her face, at the sound of his name, on her lips. His face changes, and Ben Solo's ghost appears for one, fleeting moment.

His eyes are locked on her face, but they've got a faraway, vacant quality that scares her. She places a hand on his shoulder, and he stiffens, flinching, but doesn't pull away.

She's never seen him like this, before. Breaking, falling apart.

"Let me help you." She says, kneeling on the ground, beside him. She takes his hands in her own, holding fast. "Please."

And it pours out of him. Weeks, months, years of  _something,_ bursting out of him. He weeps, squeezing her hands so tightly, she begins to lose the feeling in them. It's all she can do to stay steady, to keep them afloat as his waves crash over their head. His whole body, usually so strong, so steady, rocks with violent tremors. He's fragile. He wears his emotions on the surface, feels so deeply, so strongly, and it's taking a toll, on him. When his sobs subside, and the only sound in their shared third space is the hum of the Force and the beating of their hearts, keeping time with one another, he lifts his head, gazing at her face. And it's not Kylo Ren looking at her, but a lost, broken boy, running from the dark.

"Ben . . ." Tears blur her vision, and her heart aches, for him. "Ben, listen to me." She sniffs. "You don't have to run. You don't have to fight this." She reaches for words, tripping and stumbling over her thoughts, trying to make him  _understand_.

"You're the only one who can save Ben Solo. But I need you to see that I haven't given up on you. You have a home, here. With me. Ben, come home." She says. "Come home."

He shakes his head, looking at her with a kind of helpless desperation, and the intensity of his gaze sets her body aflame.

"I can't." He says.

"You can." She says, softly, and closes the gap between them.

**_Ben_ **

"Ben?"

His breath catches in his throat. He doesn't lift his head, not trusting himself. Her voice is just a fever dream, a product of his own insanity. He can feel his strings snapping. He's coming apart at the seams, standing at a precipice, teetering on the edge. And there's no one there to catch him.

Only when he feels the weight of her hand, on his shoulder, does he allow himself to look up. She's there, standing mere inches away, fear and concern etched deep in the lines of her face.

_Let me help you._

He can feel himself breaking down. But the floodgates are open and there's no going back. The emotion coursing through his body is a tangled, unruly mess. He can't focus. He can't breathe.

When Rey wraps her arms around him, pressing him tight against her body, he stiffens, taken aback by the physical contact. The reservation passes, and he embraces her, instinctively. He chokes back tears, the pressure on his chest lifting. It feels  _good_ , impossibly good. He realizes, then, how starved he is. For another's touch, another's comfort. Her closeness. He leans his cheek against her crown, burying his face in her dampened hair, and breathes her in

He feels  _whole_ , and the thought crosses his mind that she's literally holding his broken pieces together, keeping him from shattering into a billion indistinct bits of star dust. He returns the gesture wholeheartedly, sucking in great breaths of air, trying to pull himself together. She doesn't move away, only holds him tighter, fingers running through his hair. A groan builds in the back of his throat, and it takes everything ounce of restraint to keep it from escaping his mouth.

She pulls away, touching his face. She's so close their breath mixes.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, and her voice trembles. She traces her thumb over his cheek, wiping away his tears. She nudges into his chest, again, and his arms reach around her, almost instinctively. He reaches for words, trying to make her understand. But she  _does_  understand. He doesn't need to tell her. She  _knows_. This bond, this link, between their minds, runs deeper than either of them comprehend. And it's enough.

For now, it's enough.

**_Rey_ **

Rey remains locked in his embrace until his features grow fuzzy and he fades away. The energy surrounding them ebbs, leaving her deflated, drained, mixed emotions coursing through her.

In the days that follow, he's always there, in the quiet moments and the spaces between her thoughts. When she lies in bed, in the dark, before sleep claims her. When she's training, or meditating, and the Force is strong in her body and soul. She opens herself to him, and he does the same, and the link between them grows steadily stronger. And it feels good.

She can feel his thoughts, as faint and quiet as footsteps on a bed of leaves, a lover's whisper, in the dead of night. She opens to him like a flower. He gives her a gentle brush of the mind, a spark, a flare. Too often, she falls asleep with his thoughts in her head and his name on her lips.

Every day, she throws herself into training, putting her quarterstaff through the paces. She pushes herself to a breaking point, allowing the Force to run like a constant undercurrent in her veins and her mindscape, reinforcing every movement, every stroke. She spars with other recruits and trainers, walking away with bruises blossoming over her arms and legs and sides, exhausted but thoroughly pleased with herself.

She abandons the Texts, convinced that what she needs isn't a pile of old books but a  _teacher_ , someone to show her the way.

Rey meditates, often, venturing farther, reaching deeper and deeper inside herself. She sinks into her mindscape, into the ocean of her thoughts, and lets herself drift. But her experience with the Force only stretches so far. She resurfaces, frustrated and disheartened.

In her room, she uses the Force to lift various objects around her quarters, floating them in midair. She soon grows bored of it, though, wishing her abilities stretched farther.

Rey dwells on the battle with Snoke's Praetorian Guard, years ago. It was one of the few times she felt completely, inseparably connected to the Force. The difference, she realizes, is the fact that Ben was there, fighting by her side. He's the other half. The dark to match her light. Even in the midst of the battle, he was paving a way for her, teaching her, guarding her as fiercely as he guarded his own life. And she's becoming increasingly convinced that he's the only one who can help her.

Ben's right. The Force seems hell-bent on bringing them together. Rey can feel it. The Force is at work, shifting, flaring, bending the fates.

Rey slips into her thoughts, easily, and it's there, in that third space, that she allows herself to enjoy his company. Begrudgingly, at first. Over the weeks, however, he becomes a sanctuary, a solace, on this miserable ice cube.

Sometimes, she catches small fragments of thought. A distant voice, a flash of color or some fleeting glimpse of the world through his eyes. He constantly lingers in the corners of her mind, like a shadow. In the throes of meditation, its easier to initiate connection. He intentionally reached out to her, the night he broke down and bared his soul to her. She's constantly analyzing that moment, realizing the enormity of it. It was incredibly intimate, even though they reside in separate corners of the galaxy, with billions of light years of space between them.

She lies awake, staring into the darkness, pondering it, her mind racing with the thoughts of him, gripped by shadows of doubt.

Luke's voice, warped and twisted in death, echoes in her head.  _Emotion leads to downfall. We cannot let our hearts rule us. Find strength and peace in the Force, and close yourself off from desire and lust and greed . . ._

She feels too deeply. She's got too much darkness, inside her. And Ben only amplifies those dark currents of energy. She reacts to him like he's a magnet, a tide, drawing her in.

She can't begin to understand him. He's a storm. He's darkness and lightning and wind. But he can be so gentle, so tender.

His energy, his darkness, is intoxicating and exhilarating, and she finds it increasingly difficult to keep her head above water as his waves drag her out to sea. He's capable of scattering her sense, her self-control, in a million different directions. She saw a future with him. She can't ignore it. She can't run from it.

Rey wakes from a nightmare, a shudder running through her body. She fights to free herself from the tangle of sheets, clawing and struggling for breath. She staggers against the wall, shivering, tears blurring her vision.

The island. The ocean. The birds. The sand. The mirror. It's a mantra, in her head. Ben, wearing Darth Vader's warped, twisted mask. Snoke's gnarled fingernails, caressing her cheek.

She draws her arms around her thin frame, trembling, suddenly feeling like she can't breathe. She pulls on her shoes and a cape and wrenches open the door, letting her feet carry her up the stairs. She enters the gymnasium. It's silent, dark. She can see the silhouettes of the dummies on the shooting range, the various contraptions and machines the Resistance fighters use to stay fit.

Fragments of her nightmare resurface as she gazes into the darkness, and she tries desperately to push them into some dark, unreachable place in her mind. It doesn't work. Trying not to think about it is, in some twisted way, a form of thinking about it. If she can't even control her own thoughts, how can she become a Jedi?

Rey stands, and crosses the gym, picking up a quarterstaff. The weight is all wrong, unfamiliar. She turns, holding the staff, imagining a phantom foe. She grits her teeth, lip curling, the Force humming in her body. She swings the staff in a wide arc, blocking an imaginary advance. She side-steps, thrusting the spear into air, and makes a complicated three-point turn that Holmes, her trainer, taught her, during a lesson. She closes her eyes, letting the Force take control, an extremely powerful sixth-sense. It moves within her, guiding her maneuvers.

Rey loses herself in the fight, swinging and thrusting and stepping, practicing complex maneuvers. She parries to the left, and her staff strikes something hard. She opens her eyes and jumps back, surprised, finding Ben's face inches from her own. The corners of his mouth turn up, and he takes advantage of the five-second reaction delay to knock the staff from her hands with his weapon. It flies across the yard, falling on the snow.

"Ben."

"You need a teacher." He says, light glinting in his eyes. "I can teach you."

She draws the staff to her hand with the Force, eyes never leaving his face. She points the end of the weapon at his chest, giving him a hard look.

"Alright. Teach me."

Before he can respond, Rey thrusts her staff at him. He's ready, and knocks it away with a lazy flick of his wrist. She regains her balance, shifting her weight to the left, and knocks his leg so that he's forced to side-step to stay on his feet. She takes advantage, using a cross-body slash to disarm him. He manages to keep hold of his staff, thrusting it towards her sternum, but she knocks it away, easily.

Once again, she's awed by the complete synchronicity they share. They're perfectly in tune with each other, opposite but equal. Rey's completely lost in the battle, her entire attention focused on him and him alone, his movements, his eyes, his feet.

He feeds her instructions as they spar, refining her movements, teaching her more in the space of an hour than Luke ever did in the entire span she stayed with him on Ahch-To. She's taken aback by his sheer  _size_  and brute strength. He's huge, dwarfing her at six-foot-two, all lean muscle and broad shoulders. But he's surprisingly quick, almost  _elegant_ , she notices, as he pulls of an extremely complex one-eighty turn with fluid ease.

She grits her teeth, defending herself. He bears down, pushing her backwards, and she reciprocates his advances with equal fervor, face shining with sweat. The Force is alive, singing, crackling with their combined energy. It's a perfect storm, a beautiful, tangled web of light dark.

 _This is what it's supposed to be,_  Rey thinks, with a defiant, satisfied smile.  _Not one or the other, both. A balance_

He Force-pushes her backwards several feet. She regains her balance quickly enough to respond, shifting the momentum into a thrust that knocks his staff halfway across the gym.

He smiles. Rey's struck by the way his face changes when he smiles. The perpetual frown-lines between his brows fade away completely, and the shadows in his face seem . . .  _less_ , somehow. Pride and admiration filter through the link between their minds.

She's breathless and sweating through her clothes by the time Ben steps back, dropping his staff. She wipes a hand across her brow, chest heaving, body and mind alive. Ben laughs, and Rey cocks an eyebrow, completely taken aback by the sound. She racks her brain, almost positive she's never heard him laugh.

It's a beautiful sound, startling in its rareness.

"What?" She asks, returning his smile.

"I . . . I forgot what it felt like, fighting like that, I . . ." He trails off, and the smile slides from his face. He looks at her, tenderly, and caresses her cheek. She stiffens. He frowns, disappointed, dropping his hand.

"Ben . . ."

"We'd be invincible. We'd rule the galaxy, together. Rey—"

"No." Rey says, and bites her lip.

"We could be together, you know."

"I can't go down that path, Ben. I've no place in the dark."

"You've no place in the Jedi Order, either. Rey, you're so much more than that old fool wanted you to believe." Ben says, and his voice takes on a hint of desperation. Rey's heart aches, and she feels the familiar heat of tears behind her eyes.

"That old fool was your uncle, Ben."

"No, he wasn't. He's  _nothing_  to me." He snarls.

"Ben—"

"But you are." He says, cutting her off. "You're family, to me."

Rey falls silent. Family isn't blood. Family is the people who care for you, who love you. This sentiment, coming from him, shocks her beyond words. She opens her mouth, closes it, avoiding his eyes.

"We're supposed to be together."

"Ben, don't . . ."

"You don't belong with the Resistance. You're not happy there. You need a teacher." Ben says, vehemently. "You're strong. You're powerful. Rey." He swallows, and Rey squirms under the intensity of his eyes.

"Let go, Rey."

"I can't." Rey stammers. "I can't join you, Ben." She says, biting her lip. "I'm sorry."

"You can. You will. I saw the future. One day, all of this will burn. And you'll join me."

Rey's eyes fill with tears. She shakes her head.

"You're wrong."


	2. Wounded

**_Rey_ **

“Leia?” Rey asks, tentatively, stepping inside the room. “You sent for me?”  Pale light filters through the windows, falling in large squares over the tile floors. General Organa smiles.

“Rey.” Leia says, and smiles, clasping Rey’s hand.  “Yes, I did. “Let’s take a walk.”

Leia leads her out of the base and into the snowy landscape. She sets off at a brisk pace, towards the tree line on the outskirts of the barracks. Rey follows, trudging through the snow, struggling to keep up with the general’s long strides.

Eventually, they reach a wide, beaten path among the trees. Leia slows, and Rey falls into step beside her. She doesn’t speak. Rey says nothing, afraid to disturb her. For a while, the only sound is their footsteps in the snow and the gentle chuckle of a stream, partly covered with ice.

 Rey watches her feet. The sky is tinged pink, streaked with clouds.

She thinks of Jakku, with its sandy dunes and colorless sky, hardly any life at all, save for the occasional wandering Underling or Teedo or other desert being, searching for water or scrap metal, anything to survive. She thinks of the Starship Graveyard, the days she spent, scavenging for her next meal. She thinks of the scratches on the wall of _Hellhound Two._ She thinks of the bleak, dismal land that stretched for miles. On Jakku, you could walk for days in any direction and scarcely encounter any other life form. It was nothing but death and decay. And she was unbearably, hopelessly alone. Here, it’s not much different.

“How’re you faring, Rey?”

“I’m alright. The Jedi Texts are difficult to decipher, and Luke left a legacy on my shoulders. I fear I’m not fit to carry on, without him.”

“You’re more than fit to carry on Luke’s legacy, Rey. You’re stronger than you know. I see the light in you. The Force chose you. Trust it.”

Rey looks at the ground, embarrassed. Leia smiles.

Leia is Force-Sensitive. Rey is aware of her presence in the web, the ebb and flow, that surrounds all life. She’s a bright star, in the system. Rey can feel her light, as sure and true as shared laughter among friends, like sunlight. New life.

A bird takes flight, squawking, from the brush. Leia’s footsteps pause, then resume.

“I miss Luke. I keep busy, and I don’t notice his absence, so much. Now, though, when I’m free to let my thoughts wander, I can feel the hole, he left. He’s a missing piece of me.” Leia says, gaze fixated on the treeline, the low-hanging branches. Her eyes take on a distant, vacant quality. A pang of regret, grief, shoots through Rey’s chest. She nods, solemnly.

“I miss him, too.” Rey says, voice wavering. She looks at Leia, blinks, taken aback. A sudden, overwhelming sense of familiarity strikes her. She knows those eyes, so deep and dark and full of pain. They’re Ben’s eyes.

It’s suddenly hard to breathe. She can feel herself start to unravel. She’s suddenly afraid she’ll break, that the floodgates will open, that everything she’s been keeping inside will burst out, in all its raging, conflicted ugliness.

Leia’s gaze lingers on Rey’s face, and Rey can’t meet her eyes. She’s suddenly afraid Leia can see right through her, that she knows the nature of the thoughts running through her mind. Leia pauses, tilting her head.

“My son, Ben,” Leia begins, and her voice wavers. “You’re close, with him.” Leia says,  and Rey’s suspicions are confirmed. Her heart sinks. She nods, fingers curling into fists.

“I’m not sure I . . . know what you mean . . .” Rey says. She forces herself to meet Leia’s gaze.

“It’s okay, Rey.” Leia says, gently. “He’s my son, Rey. You can talk to me.”

Rey steels herself. “I thought I could turn him. I saw the light, still left in him. I thought I could change him. I thought I could . . .” She trails off, words caught in her throat. Tears well in her eyes, and she blinks, furiously. She stares at her shoes. “I thought I could save him.”

Leia stops, and puts a hand on Rey’s shoulder. Rey meets Leia’s eyes, finds her grief reflected in them. 

“Rey,” she begins, “You are incredibly forgiving. You’re kind. I admire your willingness to see the good in everyone, everything. It is a strength, and a weakness.” Leia pauses, frowning. “It’s time to let go.”

Another voice echoes in Rey’s mind.

_Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to._

_You’re still holding on. Let go!_

A tear slips down Rey’s cheek, and Leia touches her face, gently, wiping it away.

“There’s no light left in my son.”

Rey shakes her head, and steps back.

“With due respect, Leia. You’re wrong. There’s light in him, still. I’ve seen it.” Rey says.  “I’ve felt it.”

Leia opens her mouth, begins to say something. Blaster-fire rings through the air, drowning out her words. as Leia’s mouth forms a perfect, scarlet “o”. Time’s steel heart stops beating. She looks down, and Rey follows her gaze, horrified, a scream caught in her throat, as a large, scarlet stain spreads across the white fabric. Rey struggles to process the ragged, gaping hole in her body, the singed, burnt edges of her swan-white robes. Leia’s hands cup the wound, and Rey watches, frozen, unable to move, as she crumples to the ground.

 It’s only when Rey sees the cloaked figure, face concealed, blaster in hand, that she comes out of her trance. She reaches for the blaster on her hip, struggling with the holster. It’s too late. The cloaked figure aims and fires, and it takes her brain a few seconds to register the blow. An exquisite, agonizing flare of pain shoots through her side. Bright spots burst in front of her vision. The world seems to be draining of all color and sound. Her fingers find the wound, a searing, bloody hole in the flesh, towards the left side of her abdomen, and the world is ripped out from beneath her.

 

**_Ben_ **

 

Ben stands in the command center, eyes flicking over a star map. Hux regards him, stiffly.

“Shall we move forward with the blockade, Supreme Leader?”

“Yes. Deploy as many dreadnaughts as we can spare, get your troopers on the ground. Use force only if necessary. Do not attack civilians.” Ben says.

He’s thoroughly exhausted, plagued with nightmares and Hux’s unrelenting demands for a plan of action. They’re pressed for credits, and Theon is one of the wealthier planets. The monarchy on Theon is aligned with the New Republic, and, by extension, the Resistance. Ben suspects they won’t be persuaded to hand over the credits so easily. But then, he’s never been a politician. 

“As you wish, Supreme Leader. But may I suggest you tighten your grasp on those lowest in the chain of power. It would serve you well to demonstrate your authority, over those planets that are reckless enough to challenge you. A few civilians’ lives are a small price to pay, for power.”

“You will follow my orders, Hux. No civilian casualties, if you can help it.”

“You’re sure?” Hux asks. “You’ve already proven yourself to be a bit, ah, _unstable_. Our enemies grow comfortable defying us, and our allies will suspect you’ve gone soft, I’m afraid.”

Ben’s temper flares, and he marvels at Hux’ nerve.

 “You’re overly confident, General Hux. It’s your weakness. You’re nothing. You’re a flea, a bothersome itch. You’re—” He pauses, as the Force flares, inside him, and something is ripped from him. He grasps the edge of the table, and his breath halts, in his chest. A hot, searing pain blossoms in Ben’s abdomen. He cries out, stumbling, bright spots dancing before his eyes.

“Supreme Leader?” Hux asks, puzzled. Ben staggers, clutching his side, gasping for air.

“Leia.” He gasps. Fear overwhelms him. His mother, dead. Rey, wounded. Her ragged breaths echo in his head, but the sound is distant, like he’s listening from the other end of a long tunnel. “Rey.”

“Pardon?” Hux says, taking a step toward him.

“Leave me.” Ben snaps, lip curling. He stands, pain still radiating from his lower, left side.

Hux’s brow furrows. He opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and turns on his heel. He leaves the room, and the door slides shut, behind him. Ben slumps against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut.

“No.” He says, aloud. Her presence lingers at the far corners of his mind, but it’s distant and faint. The pain in his side is enormous and agonizing, and he knows something terrible has happened to her. She’s hurt. Badly.

“No . . . ”

 

**_Rey_ **

 

Rey drifts in and out of consciousness. Everything is heavy. She can’t move, can’t string two coherent thoughts together.

 She’s lying on her side, in the ice and snow, body curved in a C. She turns her head, blinking in the dim light. She can see Leia, lying only inches from away. She can see the blood on her cloak, spreading out on the gravel, beneath her body. The blood is a shock against the white fabric, the snow. Rey draws a breath, tears stinging her eyes.

She’s dead. Leia’s dead. She can _feel_ it. The loss. A bright star, winking out.

She attempts to sit up. Immediately, the world tips sideways, and stars dance behind her eyes. She closes them, tightly. Pain shoots through her body, stemming from her abdomen, and she cries out. Her hands are still cupped over the wound, fingers sticking together, congealed with dried blood. She wonders how much she’s lost, how much more she’ll lose before it kills her.

The world stops spinning, and Rey opens her eyes. She checks her surroundings. The cloaked figure, Leia’s assassin, is nowhere in sight.

 _Finish the job,_ she thinks, suddenly angry. _Finish me off. Be done with it. It’s what you came for, right? Kill the General, kill the Jedi._

She wants to scream. Tears leak from her eyes, cutting tracks down her face, freezing on her cheeks.

_Please._

 The pain is agonizing. She feels herself slipping, and tries, halfheartedly, to hold on. It’s below freezing, outside. Her breath is like broken glass, in her lungs. She needs help, and fast. Blood continues to squeeze through the spaces between her fingers.

_Help._

_Help me, please._

“Help!” She calls, aloud. Her voice is weak, raspy. It hurts to draw a breath. “Help me!”

A creature cries out, in the night. A single note, soft and sad. A lament. Temperatures are dropping.

Above her, the tree branches cut open the darkening sky. Stars wink and flicker from that endless, blue ocean. She watches them burn, strangely comforted.

“Rey.”

She turns her head. Ben stands, a few meters away. She blinks, vaguely wondering if he’s real, or if he’s just a hallucination, a distraction, as the life bleeds out of her.

“Ben.” She rasps, eyes locking on his face. She tries to sit up, screaming as pain rips through her body. 

“Don’t move! You’re making it worse.” Ben roars, and the ferocity in his voice stops her where she lies, tears streaming down her face.

He rushes to her side and kneels in the gravel, and his face softens.

 “Rey . . .” He says, paling. He pries her hands away from the wound.

“It’s bad.” She says. It’s not a question. “I’m going to die.”

“You’re not going to die.” Ben snaps, trying to sound firm, though his voice breaks on the last word. 

“Look at me.” Rey says, softly. He does. A tear rolls down his cheek, where the scar from her blow cuts his face in half. Rey sniffs, reaching for him. He rips off his gloves and enfolds her hand in both of his, holding fast. Her fingers are blue.

“You need help.” Ben says. Rey shakes her head. No one’s coming for her.

“Stay. Stay here, with me.” She says. “Please.”

She can feel herself slipping. His voice is distant, slurred. Her head throbs, and she can hear her heartbeat, pumping furiously, trying to supply enough oxygen to her organs, her limbs. It’s a lost cause, because there’s a hole in her body where one shouldn’t be. She’s not naive. She’s not an idiot. Once you’ve lost so much blood, there’s no going back.

“Hold still.” Ben says.  

“Ben, don’t. It’s too late.” Rey says, squeezing his hand.

“It’s not.” He growls, fiercely. “I’m not losing you.”

He presses his fingers over the wound. Rey hisses, as a fresh wave of pain shoots through her body. She bites her lip to keep from screaming. She watches Ben, through the fog. The Force vibrates, and she feels a curious, tickling sensation, a faint pressure, over the wound. She feels his energy, surrounding her, pouring into her. It’s light. It’s warmth. It’s the part of him he keeps so locked away, so hidden.

He keeps his fingers sealed over the wound. He kneels, pressing his forehead against her own. Her heart is still throbbing in her head and her side, and the world swims in and out of focus.

“Hold on, Rey.” Ben urges, hoarsely.

“Stay.” She tries to tell him, but her tongue feels too big in her mouth, and she can’t get the words out.

“I’m with you, Rey. You’re strong. You can fight. Keep fighting, Rey. Stay with me.” Ben says, choking back tears. Rey can’t drag her gaze way. Somehow, his eyes are so much more beautiful, so much more important, than the stars in the sky.

“Okay.” She says. The sensation of his fingers, entwined with hers, keeps her anchored in the present. He lies down, in the snow, next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pressing his body against her. His body heat breathes some life into her numbing body, keeping out the cold. He murmurs into the crook of her neck, breath brushing across bare skin. Her name is a prayer. The Force hums, between them.

“Hold on, Rey.”

The pain is dimming, now. She looks at Ben. He’s fuzzy around the edges, fading. She feels herself slipping and doesn’t fight it this time.

“Hold on.”

****

**_Ben_ **

****

Ben tugs at the link between them, and the pain in his side grows, spreading throughout his body like flame. A wave of vertigo breaks over his head, and he closes his eyes, fingernails scrabbling to grip the wall of the compartment. The Force pulses around him.

His breath snags in his throat. A still, crumpled body lies on the floor, swathed in white fabric, stained scarlet, surrounded by a growing pool of dark blood.

Leia.

He drops to his knees, beside her, reaching for her hand.

She’s alive. She stirs, and coughs. The sound is awful and wet, and a thin trail of blood runs from the corner of her mouth. With shaking fingers, he wipes it away.

She gazes at him, and tears spill over her lashes, pooling in the lines on her face. He looks at her, heart in his throat, mind racing to fill in the blanks as the world sways dizzyingly around him. He reaches for words, knowing there’s so many things he should to say, and no time left to say them. There’s no taking back the things he’s done, and there’s nothing he can do or say to change it. But some twisted, selfish part of him hopes that she can forgive him.

 “Han?” She croaks, and his heart bends, breaks, as she speaks that name. He feels like a small child, again, wrapped in her embrace. She was so young, so beautiful, then. But time and pain have taken a toll on her. She’s old and frail, nothing of the strength and beauty he remembers.

"No." He says. "It's Ben,"

  “You came back.” She says. Ben opens his mouth, but no words come. Tears blur his vision. Leia caresses his face, and he closes his eyes. He can feel the cracks inside himself widening, and he’s crumbling, falling apart. Her hand falls, leaving behind a smear of blood across his face. She begins to fade, slipping away, as the light leaves her. Ben drops her hand, wiping at his face, angrily.

The Force hums, mourning the loss. He draws a great, shuddering breath and climbs to his feet. The Force shifts, around him, and the pain in his side flares, again.

He hears it, then. A whimper.

He whirls around, and it’s not Leia lying in a pool of blood, it’s Rey. A renewed sense of panic seizes him, immediately.

“Rey.” He says. She stirs, at his voice, and he catches sight of the blaster wound, in her stomach. He kneels beside her, and he can’t breathe. He lost one and he can’t  lose another. She’s small, so fragile.

He presses his hand over the blaster-wound, closing his eyes, reaching across the bridge. He channels the Force, the light, sealing the wound, stopping the blood. It’s something, but it’s not enough. She’s lost too much, already. Tears stream down his face and he can’t make them stop, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep the terror from overwhelming him. He begs her to stay with him, to hold on.

She tells him she’s going to die.

“You’re not going to die.” He tells her, because the alternative is almost unbearable.

He lies beside her, tries his best to keep her warm, enveloping them both in the Force’s energy. He wraps his cape around her shoulders, keeping a hand pressed over the wound. He clings to her, tightly, not daring to loosen his grip. As if he holds her, tight enough, he can keep her from slipping away from him. But he’s foolish. He cannot stop death. He curses that fact, over and over, as he watched the life drain from her.

 As dawn breaks, and grey light crests, on the horizon, Rey begins to fade away. The Force bond pulses with finality and fades completely, leaving him numb and empty.

He glares at the floor, Rey had been, only moments before. He closes his eyes, rubbing them furiously, trying to destroy the memory of the bloodstained snow, his mother’s face—once beautiful—slack and lined in death.

Ben balls his hands into fists, feeling the darkness rearing its ugly head, and the light, surfacing to meet it. A memory breaks free of the gnarled, scarred places in his mind, ancient, almost lost during Snoke’s brainwashing. He remembers his mother, _singing_ , in the quiet hours between her duties. He remembers the feeling of her arms, holding him, as he sobbed into her shoulder, one side of his face bruised and bloodied, from the older boys on Chandrila—the ones who pushed him and kicked him and called him names and smashed his toy blaster into the ground. He remembers sunlight filtering through windows, the brush of her hand against his cheek.

He couldn’t kill her. Because she did love him, once. And he loved her. He never stopped loving her.

Some part of him will always be that little boy. The little boy with dark hair and dark eyes, who clung to her hand, who laughed at her jokes and listened to her sing and loved her with every fiber of his small being.

He’d lost both of his parents. And Rey lies in death’s arms, fighting for her life.

He sinks to his knees, on the cold, tiled floor. He digs his fingernails into his palms, desperate to feel something, _anything_ , as his world splits in two.

 

**_Finn_ **

****

Finn’s radio crackles, as he’s finishing breakfast, in the dining hall.  A voice filters through, though he can barely make out what they’re saying.

“This is Finn.” He says. “You’re breaking up. It’s a bad signal. Do you copy? Over.”

“I . . . copy. General Organa . . . mile . . . West Point . . . dead . . . injured.”

Finn’s stomach drops. _Dead? Who’s dead?_

Another voice filters through the static. He recognizes it, immediately. Poe Dameron.

“We’re on our way. Over.”

Finn rushes to the Hangar, joins a small crowd, gathered.

 “Out of the way!” Someone calls, and the crowd parts. A Med Unit, flanked by several commanders, including Poe, rushes past. Finn stops in his tracks, catching sight of the Med Unit’s patient. His mouth goes dry, and his stomach sinks through the ground.

It’s Rey. She’s lying on the Unit’s surface, unmoving, deathly pale. A large, dark stain spreads from a place on the left side of her stomach. Her lips and fingers are purplish gray. Her hand dangles from the edge of the Med Unit, delicate and slender and limp.

Oxygen leaves his lungs, and he sways, suddenly dizzy.

“Rey.”

 He rushes after the Med Unit, following it through the halls of the barracks. She’s taken to a room in one of the upper chambers. The door slides shut, separating her from Finn.

“Rey!” Finn yells, pushing through the crowd. His hands hit the cold, steel door. “Rey!” He thrusts his shoulder against it, blind in his panic, tears stinging his eyes. He feels a hand on his shoulder and shrugs it off, beating his fists against the door.

“Finn!”

“No! I need to see her. What happened? What’s wrong with her? What—”

“Finn!” Poe yells, grabbing his arm. Finn wrenches his arm away and draws a fist. Poe easily deflects the blow, slapping him clean across the face. Finn staggers, blood rushing to his cheek. Poe’s eyes are on fire, his face firm and set.

“You gotta let her go, man. There’s nothing you can do for her!”

Finn clutches the wall. feeling sick. He’s suddenly weak, trembling.

 “C’mon, Finn. She’s in good hands. She’s still fighting. She still has a chance. That’s the best you can hope for.” Poe says, and his voice falters. He gives Finn’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

People are starting to clear out of the hallway, heads bowed, talking anxiously. Finn sinks to his knees, putting his head in his hands.

“What . . . happened?” He demands. Poe stares at the floor.

“An unknown attacker, in the woods. She took a bad blow. She was out there, all night, alone. She should’ve froze to death. We don't know the significance of the wound, yet.” He pauses. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Finn takes a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And General Organa? Is she alright?”

Poe’s eyes well with tears, and Finn’s heart sinks.

“Leia’s dead.”            

***

 

 Finn stays outside the compartment, whispering a silent prayer, over and over, in his head.. Several times throughout the night, alarms go off, and several medical droids rush into the room. Sometimes, Poe or other commanders follow, brows knit, worry lines carved deep in their faces.

On one such occasion, Poe informs Finn that her vitals are dropping. She’s fighting the battle, and losing. And Finn’s losing her. He hasn’t let himself cry, yet. Not really. But he breaks down, then.

Several visitors come and go, asking for word on her current state. Most of the faces he sees are stricken, strained with grief. News of General Organa’s death has no doubt spread throughout the base. Word travels fast. Her loss hit them hard. He can see it in their eyes. The panic, and grief. The darkness. Leia’s fire kept the spark alight. Now, that fire has burnt out.

He’s preoccupied with Rey, agonizing, and each minute that drags by is longer than the last. And still, they won’t let him see her. They’ve, transfused blood into her veins, and patched her up as best they can. Now, it’s a waiting game.

 Finn’s with her, mentally, urging her to fight. Cursing the possibility that Rey—his best friend, a pillar of hope and strength to the remaining Resistance leaders—may not make it through the night.

 _No_.

He can’t think like that. He can only pray, cursing the stars and anything under the sun that dares take her from him.

 

**_Ben_ **

 

Ben sits on the edge of his bed, in his quarters, palms pressed over his eyes. Rey’s alive. He can feel her, but barely. Her presence is weak, but she’s fighting. He longs to see her face, to feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. He can’t lose her.

He lays back, on the sheets, staring at the ceiling. He pushes against the connection, seeking her light.

 _“Rey?”_ He asks, hesitantly. There’s no response, only a faint hum, where their minds are bridged. He continues along the path, willing himself into her mindscape. He closes his eyes, opens them.

She’s lying on the bed, beside him. His breath snags in his throat.

“Rey?”

She’s unconscious, dressed in undergarments. Her abdomen, where the blaster struck, is wrapped in a thick layer of bandages. There’s an IV in her arm, the needle feeding life-sustaining fluids into the vein on the inside of her elbow, held in place by a stretch of adhesive tape that wraps around her arm, pinching the soft skin.

Absently, he wonders why they didn’t put her in a Bacta Tank. The Resistance probably doesn’t have access to that kind of tech, severely weakened and depleted as they are. He dismisses the thought, too fixated on the rise and fall of Rey’s chest to worry himself with Resistance medical equipment.

Her face is slack, almost peaceful. Her hair is undone, falling over her shoulders, framing her face in a cascade of dark locks. He wants to touch it. He wants to tangle his fingers in it. And, _Gods_ , her lips. He can’t draw his eyes away from them. Soft and pink and slightly parted, in sleep.

His eyes following the natural path of her beautiful, slender neck, the sweep of her collar bones. She’s looks small, so delicate. But he knows better; he can’t ignore the cords of muscle in her arms, her calloused, scarred hands. Worker’s hands, marred from her days as a slave, a scavenger, on Jakku.

He wants to touch her, badly. He needs to be sure that she’s alive, that she’s not going to slip away, into death’s waiting arms. He hesitates, warring with himself, wondering if this advance is wrong, feeling he’s somehow taking advantage of her, whilst she’s unconscious and vulnerable. But he needs to know. He needs to be sure.

He takes her hand. A shudder runs through him, and a burst of energy—quick and bright, like sunlight or stardust—erupts in his mindscape, cutting through the darkness.

He sighs, feeling some of the weight lifted from his chest. He strokes his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles, tracing a thin, white scar stretching across the heel of her palm. Her pulse, quick and faint, pushes against his fingertips. He sighs, relieved, and wonders at it. It’s miraculous, really, that something so small and faint contains an entire life force.  

Ben’s gaze wanders to her torso, her abdomen, where a quilt of multicolored bruises is visible beyond the bandages. He wonders what the wound looks like, prays she isn’t in pain.

Ben continues to stroke her fingers, exploring her hands. He’s greedy, though. He wants more. His eyes travel to her face, to her nose and the arch of her brow, the faint constellations of freckles on her cheeks. He hadn’t noticed them before. His gaze occupies her lips, again, pining, _wanting_. He wonders what they would feel like, against his own. The thought is so unfamiliar, unwelcome, and he resists the urge to flee the room. He stays, rooted to the spot, squeezing her hand.

He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t act like this, he shouldn’t _want_ this. But he does. There’s no point in lying to himself. He does. He wants her. He wants to touch her, to hold her, to hear her voice and feel her fingers running on his skin. Something about her makes him completely, utterly useless. He resents it. He _hates_ it, this effect she has on him. 

When he’s with her, the pull to the light becomes stronger, and he can’t find the willpower to fight it. The chaos, the war, inside him ceases when she’s near. And he craves the calm, the peace, the end of all the pain and sorrow and want and hurt and loss he’s endured his entire span of years. He was alone, lost and wandering, _a child in a mask_ , until she came into his life. Kicking and screaming. Wielding a lightsaber, ready to kill, yes. But she’d changed. She looked at him like no one ever had. She looked at him like he _mattered._

Ben steels himself, leans forward, and plants a kiss between her eyes. A wave of energy—pleasant and warm—rushes through him. He draws away, gazing at her face. Her brow furrows, slightly, and her eyelids flutter. His lips travel to her cheek, brushing against the skin. He sighs, warmth and light humming within him. After a moment’s hesitation, he presses his mouth against the corner of her lips.

The compartment fades, and images begin to flash before Ben’s eyes. He’s standing in a field, surrounded by long, waving grass and wildflowers. He feels a sudden wet, rain or teardrops, on his face. In an instant, it’s gone, replaced with firelight and the scent of salt on the wind, as his fingers fumble over the broken pieces of Luke’s—no, _his_ —lightsaber. He watches scarlet stains blossom over his mother’s cowl, watches a ship take flight in the sky, feels dust in his eyes and tears on his cheeks.

He’s dreaming. Or rather, she’s dreaming, and he’s a visitor, somehow. He’s not in his quarters, and he’s not on the Resistance base, either. This is her mindscape, her consciousness. Her dreams draw him out, to sea. A tide. He’s enraptured.

“Rey?” Ben tries, listening, _praying_ , for a response. Her presence is somehow stronger, here, in this abstract void.

_How?_

He’s intrigued. Before he can really grasp the situation, it fades. He finds himself in his compartment, stooped over Rey’s sleeping form, lips brushing against hers. He pulls back, and the warmth, the energy, ebbs. He reaches up and strokes Rey’s face, disoriented from the sudden venture into her subconscious.

“Rey?” He asks, again, but her physical form is beginning to fade. In an instant, she’s gone, leaving his bed empty and cold and unwelcoming. As the connection breaks, the warmth and light leave him.

 Ben slumps, letting his head drop into his hands, frustrated and alone. His skin weeps with the memory of her.

“Rey.” He moans, staring into the shadows. 

Across the galaxy, Rey opens her eyes.

 


	3. An Awakening

_**Rey** _

Rey dreams, endlessly. Stars burn behind her eyes. She chases voices, whispers.

A little girl crouches in the shadows, hands clamped over her ears, as howling wind batters at the armored sides of a toppled AT-AT. Voices beckon from the depths of an ancient tree, the first Jedi Temple. She stands, gazing at her own reflection in the mirror at the heart of Ahch-To.

A whisper, a brush of lips caresses her cheek, her lips, like moth's wings. She catches fleeting glimpses of a man with a scar tearing his face in half, swathed in black. Sparks skitter in the inky blackness of the night, and a pale, blue glow—fire, as pure and true as the energy that binds all life—sets her body ablaze.

A pink sky opens before her, stretching for miles. She caresses the petals of wildflowers. Rain falls, kissing her lashes. She watches her General, her Princess, collapse, scarlet stains blossoming over her white cloak like poppies in snow. A droplet of blood runs down the curve of her wrist.

_"Rey."_

Rey wakes, shrouded in darkness. As consciousness, a grasp on reality, rushes in to fill in the blanks, she finds she cannot move, cannot see. She draws a breath, panicked. Pain shoots through her body. She winces, and stars dance behind her eyes. She bites her tongue—hard—to keep from crying out. Eventually, the pain dulls.

Rey struggles to open her eyes, lashes fluttering. Her surroundings swim into focus, and she squints, trying to make out concrete objects in the blur of color.

Everything is heavy. It takes her a while to work the feeling into her limbs, her fingers. Thick, stiff sheets are draped over her body. She can feel their weight. She touches her abdomen, tentatively, where pain is most acute, and finds her entire lower torso is swathed in thick bandages.

The memory of it all rushes back, like a sucker-punch to the stomach. Rey sees the blood on Leia's cloak and the shadowed figure, the blood caked on her hands. Ben, face stained with tears, using the Force to seal the wound, begging her to hold on . . .

 _I'm alive,_  she thinks, and bursts into tears. She turns her head, burying her face farther in the pillow beneath her, letting them fall, face burning. They slide down her cheeks, wetting her pillow. Every sob, every shuddering breath, feels like broken glass. She bites her lips, fighting through the pain. She cries for a long time, letting the relief, the sorrow, pour out of her under the cover of privacy. At some, indiscernible point, the tears stop. She slips, quietly and willingly, into slumber.

Rey wakes, again, to the sound of footsteps outside her door. She opens her eyes, noticing, for the first time, the IV in her arm. There's a monitor by her bed, beeping steadily, keeping time with her heartbeat, measuring her vital signs and bodily functions. Her face feels sticky and hot, from the dried tears, but she feels cleansed and refreshed, and better than she has in a long while.

Her eyes scan the room, drawn, almost immediately, to Finn. He's sitting in a chair in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, asleep and snoring, softly. She smiles, sniffing, and tries to sit up. Immediately, a wave of nausea overwhelms her. She squeezes her eyes shut, breathing through her nose, until it passes. When it does, she lays back, taking a moment to gather her bearings.

Again, her fingers find the thick layer of bandages. She pulls back the sheets. She's wearing undergarments, but several inches of bruised skin are visible above the bandages. She can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips, her head, throbbing with every inhale and exhalation. She brushes the bandage with her fingertips.

"Rey?"

She turns, toward the voice, letting the sheets fall, concealing her battered, bruised body.

Finn stands in the corner, a wide grin breaking over his face. He rushes to her bedside, reaching for her. He stops short, afraid to touch her, afraid she'll break into a million pieces. She smiles and clasps his hand, dissipating his fears.

"Finn." She says, softly.

"I thought I lost you." Finn says, voice trembling. "They brought you in, and there was so much blood, Rey." His face contorts, and tears spring in his eyes.

"I thought I was a goner, for sure." She admits, uneasily.

Finn looks at her, eyes shining.

She squeezes his hand, reassuringly.

"I'm here, now."

"And you'll be alright. I promise."

"How long have I been out?"

"Two days. Your vitals were weak, for a while. Everything's stable, now."

"And Leia?" Rey asks.

"Leia's gone."

Rey nods, tears spilling over her lashes.

The monitor by her bedside begins to beep, and Finn starts, alarmed. The beeping persists, and footsteps approach the door. An agitated medical droid storms into the room, and pushes Finn toward the door.

"Alright, alright! I'm going!" Finn yells, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He catches Rey's eye. "I'll see you soon."

Leia's funeral is held the following day, in the late morning.

Rey's wound isn't much better. She's exhausted and aching. Every time she draws a breath, a sharp pain shoots through her body. She can't move, can't stand. Violent fits of nausea permeate her waking hours.

Her bed is wheeled outside, so she can partake in Leia's service. Lieutenant Connix tends to her, before the funeral, braiding her hair back, smoothing heavy, thermal blankets over her legs and lower torso.

Outside, snow is falling. Clouds swirl overhead, and a breeze stirs the flyaways that frame Rey's face. She takes a breath. Finn joins her outside, as the remaining Resistance soldiers gather around Leia's body. Wordlessly, he offers Rey his hand, and she takes it, holding fast.

Rey gazes at the Princess' casket, tears blurring her vision.

She's clothed in a beautiful, lilac gown, hair plaited in intricate braids, woven with twine and cold. A large, jeweled necklace adorns her throat. She clasps Han's pair of dice, in her hands.

Even in death, she is beautiful.

The funeral begins. Poe steps up, clasping a piece of paper in his hand. He opens his mouth, closes it again.

"Leia is . . ." He tries, eyes glistening with tears. "Leia was . . ."

He returns the paper to his pocket, taking a breath.

"Leia's like a second mother, to me. She was strong, the strongest person I've ever met. She didn't take shit from anybody." Poe says, and laughs, but the sound is strangled and forced.

"She's royalty. She's our princess, our general. She put her faith in the light. She founded the Resistance as the First Order rose to power. She's the only reason we're standing here, together. We're the galaxy's last, fighting chance." Poe pauses, and his eyes find Rey, in the crowd. She nods, urging him on.

"She believed we would be the spark that would light the Rebellion. We would burn the First Order down." Poe pauses. His gaze sweeps the crowd, and he straightens.

"She's right. But the only way we can survive, the only way we can win, is together. We must support each other, defend each other. And we can win." He finishes.

Poe wipes his eyes, and steps forward. He kneels beside Leia's casket and presses a kiss on her crown, then retreats, head bowed.

Commander Holmes, a man in his mid-forties with hair streaked with gray, steps forward and shares tales of his days serving Leia before the Resistance. Other commanders and soldiers share their personal stories of Leia, with tears in their eyes and lines etched deep in their faces. Rey listens, still holding Finn's hand. As the funeral closes out, Rey sits up, ignoring the pain that shoots through her side.

"I'd like to say something." She says, and the crowd falls silent, looking at her. She meets their eyes, nervous. People crane their necks, trying to get a better look at her. Rumors travel fast. It's not a big secret. She's the last Jedi. She's the Force's Chose One, the wizard who lifted rocks, who snatched the entirety of the Resistance from Death's open jaws.

Rey tries to ignore them.

These people, people she's barely known for a mere few weeks, look at her like she's a hero, like they can't quite believe their eyes. Like she's the stuff of legends. She's not. She doesn't want to be.

"I was there, when Leia died. We were attacked by a stranger in a hood. I didn't see his face. It all happened fast." Rey says, and guilt boils inside her. She should've protected Leia. She should've saved her. But she didn't. She couldn't.

"And I'm sorry." Rey says, and tears sting her eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect her." She bites her lip, fighting through the tears, angry with herself. The words don't come, easily. She's not done yet. There's a thousand things she ought to say, but a thousand words can't scratch the surface.

"Leia's life has been eulogized beautifully, already. I didn't know her well, but I knew her enough to trust her, to love her, even." Rey falters, takes a moment to gather her bearings. "She's our General. She's a symbol. She's hope, simple and plain. And she'll live on."

Rey's eyes find Han's dice, glinting in Leia's hands.

"This isn't the end. It's the beginning. And I think there's only one thing left to say." Rey says. Tears are streaming down her face. She swallows

"Leia, may the Force be with you." Rey smiles. "Always."

Poe and Connix light torches and ignite Leia's casket. Rey watches the flames engulf Leia's body, and a mixture of grief and hope and bittersweet longing swirls inside her. Poe makes his way through the threshold, approaching her, and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She welcomes the comforting gesture.

Silence hangs over the rebel base, as the flames climb higher into the sky.

When it's over, the crowd disperses. Many commanders and soldiers approach Rey, whispering words of consolation, comfort.

Rey lingers, long after the crowd disperses, watching the dying embers. Poe is among the last, to leave. He offers to wheel her inside. She shakes her head, electing to stay, a bit longer. And then it's just her. The Force hums, gently, and Rey finds Ben, standing beside her. She reaches for him, clasps his hand. He shivers, doesn't resist her touch. Tears glisten in his eyes, and Rey can see the firelight, reflected in them. They stay like that, for a long time, wrapped in one another's grief, until he fades away, leaving her with nothing but ash and snow to keep her company.

***

In the days that follow, Rey puts all her energy into recovering from her wound. She's stuck in the Med Bay, carefully monitored by medical droids. Most of her nutrients are received intravenously, though, on the third day, she's allowed to eat soft potatoes and a pudding-like substance with a spoon.

Finn, Poe, and Rose are regular visitors, bringing her tidbits of news from the world outside her medical compartment. It's more of the same. Hope is scarce. Leia's loss hit the rebel force where it hurts, and it's a long road to recovery. Her absence is a gaping hole, a bullet wound, in the body of the Resistance..

Rey's spirits plummet. Her wound doles out excruciating pain almost twenty-four hours out of the day, and, at the same time, she's itching to get out and move around. On Jakku, she spent most of her life outside, in the open air. Now, she's stuck in this stuffy, windowless compartment, only about a hundred square feet from wall to wall. She wants to feel the sun, however weak its rays, on Hoth. She wants to feel the biting cold, the wind, the crunch of snow, under her boots.

On the fourth day, she attempts to stand. As soon as she gets to her feet, pain shoots through her abdomen, so hot and immediate her vision goes dark, for a moment. She screams, collapsing on the ground. She trips some sort of alarm, alerting the medical droids of her misadventure.

She's lifted into bed, and the medical droid unwraps her bandages to find she's torn the stitching. Fresh blood seeps from the wound. Rey gazes at it and her head spins. Bile creeps up the back of her throat.

It's the first time she's gotten a good look at it. The skin is swollen and pulled tight around the gnarled, bloody mess. She looks away, fighting to keep her lunch. She's not a stranger to bloodshed—she'd been in the thick of battle, on the  _Supremacy_ , not to mention the raids and violent quarrels over the odd spare part she'd witnessed, on Jakku—but the sight of it nauseates her.

The droid patches her up, smothering the wound with antiseptic that burns Rey's nose, and threatens to use restraints if she tries anything again. She spits insults as the door swings shut behind the droid, using the kind of profanity that would've made Unkar Plutt blush.

She grows increasingly impatient and frustrated. Her muscles ache from inuse, and the boredom is almost unbearable. She spends a lot of time lost in her own thoughts, picking apart the moments she shared with Leia.

 _"We have everything we need."_ Leia had told her, as they escaped Crait on the  _Falcon_. She'd touched the broken pieces of the lightsaber, clasped Rey's hand.

Rey shivers.

 _She could've been referring to anything_ , Rey thinks, but she can't ignore the implications. Leia was referring to Rey, to the Jedi Order. She wanted her to go on, to continue to train in the ways of the Force. To rebuild the Order. She's almost certain.

A spark lights, inside Rey. She wouldn't have dared admit it aloud, but she'd begun to view Leia as a sort of mother-figure, a role-model. She admired Leia's wisdom and compassion. She was brave. She was fair, and she loved her people.

If Leia wanted her to rebuild the Jedi Order, then rebuild the Jedi order she must. But she hasn't the means. Luke's gone. There's no one left to teach her.

 _I've got the Jedi Texts,_ she thinks.

 _And Ben._  A voice pipes up, in her head. She pushes the thought away, afraid.

It's surreal. Is this really the path she's meant to take? Three weeks ago, she was haggling with Unkar Plutt for one more quarter-portion, living—no,  _surviving_ —by the day, scavenging and cleaning parts until her fingers were cracked and bleeding and sunburns covered her skin, itching and peeling. Peering into the desert through a cracked Rebel Alliance helmet. Watching the stars, hoping, wishing, that her family was coming back for her, while some, deep, twisted part of he knew they weren't. She was alone.

Now, there's weight on her shoulders, expectations to fulfill, the broken beginnings of a rebellion—the galaxy's last hope. And there's a hole, inside her. She's grown used to it, over the years. And she's tried desperately to fill it. First, with Han, then with Luke, and Leia. But they're gone, and she's empty.

She's trapped. Sweat beads on her forehead and upper lip, and she's desperate to get  _out_. But she can't. She can't, and she's frustrated, so  _angry_ , she can't think straight.

"Rey."

Rey whips around, in the direction of the voice. Ben stands in the corner, a few yards from her bed. The connection hums, alive with energy and the traffic of their thoughts. Her first instinct is to cut it loose, to fight the intrusion. Then, she remembers the way he'd held her, in the woods. He saved her life.

She searches his face for any signs of darkness, of anger or hatred or fear, as is her habit. There is none, only concern, and something else she can't identify. He meets her gaze.

"You're distressed."

"I'm alright." She says, shortly. He'd held her hand, in those dark moments, full of pain and burning moons and blood. He saved her life.

Again.

"How's your wound?" He asks, brows knitting together.

"The medical droids say it's healing." She says, touching the bandages, absently. "It hurts."

"Who attacked you?" He demands, darkly, and Rey gets the impression he's making plans to kill the poor bastard, as they speak.

"I don't know. Nobody knows."

Ben approaches her bedside, slowly. She watches him close the space between them, and her thoughts scatter a million different directions.  _Gods_ , he's beautiful.

She tries, frantically, to keep that thought from his prying tendrils, reprimanding herself for feeling the things she feels, for thinking the things she thinks. But, it's true. He's beautiful.

He stops, about a foot away, and his gaze never leaves her face. He takes her in, as if he's committing every detail of her face to memory. It makes her feel oddly naked, though she's wearing a simple, cotton shirt and pants, standard wear for long-term residents of the Med Bay. She's suddenly self-conscious. Her hair is unkept, and she hasn't bathed in a long while. She toys with the IV in her arm, feeling her face flush. She forces herself to hold his gaze.

"You're alive." He breathes, quietly, more to himself.

"I am."

Ben nods, again. Rey falls silent, looking at him. Large, dark bags hang under his eyes. In the light, they look like bruises.

Rey sidles aside, wincing. Ben looks at her, unsure, before sinking onto edge of the bed.

"Thank you," she says, quickly, "for saving my life."

**_Ben_ **

 

Ben gazes at her, and relief washes over him. She's recovering. She's sickly and weak, yes, but alive.

This time, he can get an idea of her surroundings. She must be in a medical bay, of some sort. He can see the various monitors, the bed in which she lies, the door, to the left.

He'd been occupying himself in his quarters, scrolling through various databases, avoiding Hux, bored and frustrated, when he'd felt the prickle of anger, distress, come through the link between their mindscapes. The Force transported him to a sort of half-way point between their worlds, a third space. He's still in his quarters, but he's also wherever she is, whatever base the remaining Resistance forces are holed up in, attempting to recover

She invites him to sit on the bed, and he obliges, hyper-aware of every move he makes, suddenly wishing he wasn't so big. He shifts, unable to arrange his legs in a way that isn't uncomfortable or awkward. Rey watches him closely, intrigued, but also wary, as if he's some wild, untamed creature she'd come across in the wild. As if she's deciding whether he's going to make a move, or do something to hurt her. He wishes she wouldn't. He's already a stranger.

He shivers, body humming with energy. Up close, he realizes how  _small_ she is. He has a hard time believing that someone so thin and delicate can wield a light saber with such skill and precision as he'd witnessed. She's strong, though. He can see it, in the way she carries herself, in the way she speaks, in the perpetual fire, burning in her eyes.

She settles back into the pillows, relaxing. He studies her, distracted by her lips. He remembers what they felt like, against his own, and blushes.  _Gods_ , he hopes she doesn't remember that. He's such an idiot. Here he is, a powerful dark side Force-user, master of the Knights of Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, blundering and blushing because of a kiss. He can't focus, can't think straight. His heart is beating too fast, too loudly. He's sure she can hear it. He almost laughs, at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

A blush creeps up her neck and stains her cheeks. He melts, a little. He's conflicted, torn between wanting to slap himself or touch her, hold her. He doesn't know what to make of this. He doesn't know what to do with the fact that he feels more like himself, whole, in her presence. The push and pull aren't so strong. The light is winning, no doubt, and he can't find the strength inside himself to fight it.

Silence lapses between them. He reaches out, opening himself up to her thoughts. He's experimenting. He doesn't really know what to expect.

Rey's eyes widen, but she doesn't push him out. Instead, she extends herself, too. He can feel her thoughts, her mindscape, brush against his own. It's gentle and sweet, and incredibly intimate. He can almost  _feel_  her, physically, like sunlight on skin.

They linger, like that, not talking. Afraid to disturb the other, afraid the bond will fade, that the connection will break. They share words, fragments of thought and memory and feeling, without speaking a word. When Rey's edges begin to fade, and she winks out of sight, he lies awake, long after. He falls asleep with her voice, her scent, her presence, filling the cracks, binding the broken pieces of him, making him whole.

**_Rey_ **

On the sixth day since the attack, Poe wheels her down to the dining hall, where she enjoys a meal with him, Finn, and Rose.

Rey's frustration melts away, and she's able to put her troubles far out of mind as they trade stories and jokes. Rey follows the ebb and flow of conversation, nibbling on a sandwich; her stomach is still rocky from the IV fluids and all the soft, tasteless food, but she manages to keep it down.

"How're you feeling, Rey?" Poe asks, concerned

"I'm alright. I'll heal." She tells him. "The droids in the Med Bay assured me of a fast recovery. I'll be out of bed by the end of the week." She says, rolling her eyes.

"I spoke with your trainer. He wants you out in the yard as soon as you can shoot a blaster." Poe says, and laughs. "He thinks very highly of you."

"And I, him." Rey says. "I'm anxious to train, as well." She shrugs. "I'm not used to bed-rest."

"Are you in pain?" Rose asks.

"No. It aches, yes, but it's not as bad as it used to be."

"I'm glad." Rose says, and her smile is genuine.

Poe studies the bread roll in his hands, looking thoughtful.

"We haven't caught the assassin. Nothing can survive, here. Not without proper shelter, technology . . . We don't have any record of other sentient inhabitants, on Hoth. It's likely the assassin is here, with us.

"An insider?" Finn asks, brows kinitting. "A First Order mole?"

Poe shrugs. "If they're a spy, why hasn't Kylo Ren showed up on our doorstep, already?"

Rey shifts, uneasily.

"Rey, carry a blaster at all times. Don't leave your quarters without one. The attacker is still here, among us. He needed Leia, but he wasn't opposed to eliminating you, either. You've probably made enemies. News spreads surprisingly fast, in a galaxy so large. People know who you are and what you're capable of. You need to be careful." Poe insists, and touches her shoulder. "We need you alive." He says, and laughs.

Rey nods, and smiles. "I'll try."

The conversation turns. Rey doesn't pay much attention, slipping quietly and easily into her own, troubled thoughts. She throws a glance over her shoulder, taking in the buzzing activity, around them. The hairs along her neck and arms rise, and a shiver runs through her. Somewhere, Leia's assassin lurks, out of sight. Concealed by the masses, an insider, a snake. Watching, waiting . . .

"Rey?"

She turns, startled out of her thoughts. Finn puts a hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Wha—yeah, I'm fine." She says, hurriedly. She forces a smile, takes a bite of her sandwich. "I'm fine."

In the days following her release from the Med Bay, Rey moves slowly. Her movements are measured and careful. She makes the long walk to her quarters, accompanied by Finn. Every step sends a flare of pain through her body, and she finds herself leaning on him, heavily. She glances at him, apologetically.

"It's alright, Rey, really. Let me help you." He says, waving her off.

They reach Compartment 204. Her quarters. Finn touches her shoulder, lightly, reluctant to leave.

"I'm fine, Finn. I promise."

"Okay." He says. "Call, if you need anything. Alright?"

"Alright."

She punches in the four-digit number code that unlocks the door, and finds everything exactly how she left it.

She makes a beeline to the refresher, peeling off the clothes she'd been supplied in the Med Bay. Large flakes of dry skin peel from her body along with the garment. Her hair is greasy and unkept, falling in stiff knots around her face. She wrinkles her nose, feeling exceptionally unclean. It's been so long since she's had a proper bath.

She steps into the water, and a sigh escapes her lips. Rey scrubs her skin raw, until she's certain every particle of dirt and grease is gone, rinsed down the drain. On Jakku, she didn't have the luxury of warm baths, but she did try to keep reasonably clean. It was a difficult feat, considering the planet was almost entirely sand and dirt, and the air was dry and hot. She lets herself enjoy the luxury, now.

After her bath, she sits on the edge of her bed, naked apart from her undergarments, and combs through her wet hair. She untangles the knots with her fingers, and ties it up in a sloppy bun atop her head. She sits, inspecting her body. Her legs are thin and frail, from disuse, and she knows she'll have to rebuild the muscle. The rest of her isn't much better. Her ribs are prominent, and her skin is pale and waxy, hanging loosely from her frame. She's lost weight—too much of it.

Rey's hands find the wound. She traces her fingers over the gnarled stitching. It's better than it was, but it's not a pretty sight. She'll have a massive, ugly scar there for the rest of her life.

She dresses, pulling on soft, cotton pants and a shirt, wincing as she raises her arms to pull it over her head. The slightest movements pull and tug at her stitches, but she manages.

Rey searches the storage compartment and picks up the broken lightsaber. Though it's damaged, almost destroyed, from the pressure of the warring energies—the light, and the dark—it still whispers to her. She goes to her bed and curls up on the sheets, clutching the halves to her chest. She closes her eyes, listening to it, feeling it reach for her, like the Jedi Texts called to her, on Ahch-To. Like the mirror called to her. She's tied to it, somehow.

Its voice isn't strong. It's like a ghost.

Lying on the bed, stiff sheets creased against her cheek, she lets herself drift.

 

***

 

Rey stands on the shooting range, sweating in the midday heat, aiming a blaster at the dummy at the far end of the fifty-yard span. She squints, closing an eye, and pulls the trigger. The shot strikes the dummy clean through the chest. She adjusts her feet and draws a breath, ignoring the ache in her side, and looses a few more shots. Each find their mark, striking the dummy's head and chest.

"Impressive."

Rey starts, turning to see Poe Dameron standing at her side, grinning.

She smiles.

"We're holding a meeting, and your attendance is requested." Poe says.

"Me?" Rey asks, taken aback. "Why? I'm not a commander."

Poe regards her, thoughtfully.

"People trust you."

So, Rey finds herself standing outside the door to a briefing room, adjusting the cloth wraps on her arms. She's wearing an ash-gray cloak that brushes the tiled floor. She knots her fingers together and bounces on the balls of her feet, fidgety and nervous. She's never been to any meetings before. Even though she knows most of the commanders, she doesn't know exactly what's expected of her. Her stomach twinges at the thought of giving some sort of speech.

"Rey!" She turns, surprised, and catches sight of Poe striding towards her. "C'mon, let's go inside. They're waiting for us." He pulls open the door and leads her inside. She glances around. The other commanders sit at a large, rectangular table in the middle of a briefing room. Most of them are engaged in friendly conversation when she enters. Rey's eyes rove over their faces, immediately recognizing Saros, Holmes, and Commander D'Acy.

Rey takes a seat between Poe and Holmes, waiting for someone to speak. Commander Saros stands, addressing the room.

"We're gathered to select General Organa's successor. First, however, we must discuss our plan to move forward. Our fleet is severely weakened. Our artillery and resources are depleted" Commander Saros says, regarding them all. "Currently, we're out of range of the First Order's tracking technology. It's my understanding that they have no idea where we are, but that could change at any moment. We need to be ready." Saros finishes, frowning.

"We've got a number of new recruits, ready and willing to fight" says a grizzled old man Rey doesn't recognize.

"Not enough recruits." Holmes says, darkly.

"We need to rebuild our fleet." Poe says. Rey meets his eyes. "We lost our entire fleet to the First Order's dreadnaughts. A lot of good men died, out there. Heroes. We need new ships, and new pilots." Poe folds his arms. "Rebellions are built on hope, but they're won by soldiers. Let's give our soldiers means to defend themselves, instead of a death sentence."

"We don't have the supplies, nor the credits, to afford ships." Commander D'Acy argues.

"Then we need to appeal to some of the more able planets. We need to build alliances." Poe says, adamantly.

"Our former allies have made it very clear they want no part in the rebellion. No one's willing to help us."

Rey bites her tongue, glancing between D'Acy and Poe.

"We need to try." Rey says. All heads turn to regard her, and Rey feels blood rush to her face. She presses on. "We can't stand by when injustice and fear live on in the galaxy. We can appeal to the neutral planets, build a case for ourselves." She pauses, glancing at Poe. He nods, encouragingly. "There are people out there, betting on us." Rey recalls her old, Rebel helmet she had, back on Jakku. Recalls the countless evenings she spent gazing at the stars, surviving on hope and hope alone. "We need to try."

D'Acy looks at Rey.

"It's risky. Just a week ago, someone attempted to take your life. There are hostile sentiments about the Resistance circulating the galaxy. The First Order's influence is everywhere."

"Leia would want us to take a risk. She built  _all this,_ despite the risk. She would want us to go on. She'd want us to fight." Poe says.

"I suppose we could arrange to send representatives to various neutral systems. Naboo, perhaps. Or Chandrila. In General Organa's spirit, at least. We'll try."

Saros touches Rey's shoulder, lightly.

"Leia's faith in you wasn't misplaced, Rey."

Rey flushes, smiling gratefully.

"Now, it's the matter of choosing General Organa's successor. Majority rules. We'll do so openly, unless anyone objects?" Saros asks.

No one speaks.

Rey watches, attentive and curious, as Saros asks each commander to stand while the others cast their votes.

In the end, Commander D'Acy takes the vote. Leia and Holdo trusted her, and she's inarguably loyal. She receives the honor graciously, shaking each commander's hand in turn.

"Anything else, before we close?" Saros inquires.

"Yes, actually." D'Acy says, straightening. "As General Leia's successor, I'd like to promote Rey. By my authority, she's hereby recognized as a commander, and will receive the respect and responsibility that accompanies the title."

Rey cocks an eyebrow, spluttering, trying to comprehend her words.

"Me? Commander? General D'Acy, I—"

"You are as fit to lead as any of us. You may be our most valued asset, moving forward."

Rey swallows, awestruck.

"I-I don't know what to say."

D'Acy smiles, kindly.

"Save your breath for Chandrila, my dear. You'll depart come the morrow, if we hope to build an alliance."

General D'Acy turns, addressing the Command.

"General Leia Organa built the Resistance upon one ultimate mission: to restore hope to the galaxy. In the words of our own Commander Dameron, we are the spark that'll light the fire that'll burn the First Order down. Let's not forget it."


	4. The Quest

_**Rey** _

Finn stands outside Rey's quarters in the early morning, thumbs hooked around his belt loops, grinning.

"Finn!" Rey says, surprised and delighted. She throws her arms around his neck. "What're you doing?"

"I'm coming with you." He says. "To Chandrila."

"Oh! That's great!" She says, beaming.

"Poe's coming, as well."

"I've just gotta get my things." She says, hurrying inside. She grabs a sack and starts throwing clothes into it. She opens the chest, hesitates, and grabs the books and the lightsaber, as well. Better to be safe than sorry. She's grown quite attached to the items, anyway. It makes her anxious to be apart from them for very long.

"Alright, I'm all set." She says, and Finn falls into step beside her as they make their way down to the hangar. General D'Acy and Poe are waiting for them, outside the Falcon.

"Remember, this is a diplomatic mission. You'll make peaceful negotiations with the Chandrilans. We're not in the position to start a conflict, nor would we want to risk throwing away a potential alliance with both hands." General D'Acy says. She glares at Poe. "I'm talking to you, Dameron."

"You've nothing to worry about, General, I assure you."

"Keep weapons on you, but avoid using them unless absolutely necessary. Keep a watchful eye on your surroundings, and look out for one another. You have enemies everywhere. Remember that." The hard edge disappears from her voice. "You're three of the youngest, brightest soldiers we have. I can't risk losing you."

"We'll be careful." Rey assures her.

"May the Force be with you."

"And you, General." Finn says.

General D'Acy nods, curtly, dismissing them. Rey follows Finn up the  _Falcon_ 's ramp. Something hard bumps her leg, and she glances down to find BB-8 by her side, whirring and chirping happily.

"BB-8, it's good to see you!" Rey says, kneeling beside the droid. "Are you coming with us?"

BB-8 whirrs, affirmatively. Poe chuckles.

"There's no one else I trust more. He's good in a tight spot. Huh, Bud?"

BB-8 beeps and whirrs, spinning circles around their feet.

"Alright, let's get this hunk of junk in the air." Poe says.

An impatient growl echoes, in the cockpit, and Rey brightens at the sound.

"Chewie's coming, too?"

Poe shrugs.

"He won't let the  _Falcon_  out of his sight. We had to bring him."

Rey laughs. "Chewie's an asset, too. He's saved my life. Twice."

Finn grins. "Good. We're going to need all the help we can get."

Rey punches his shoulder, lightly.

"You don't seem too confident."

"Yeah, considering the shit I've had to deal with, recently I can't say I'm too happy-go-lucky."

They're interrupted by another interjection on Chewie's part. Poe makes his way to the cockpit with BB-8 in tow, and Finn takes a seat in the main hold. Rey follows him, shoving her belongings in a compartment, before situating herself in the seat across from him. The  _Falcon_  hums to life and rises in the air.

Rey grins at Finn, glad she's finally useful, for something. If there's anything she can't stand, it's sitting still. It reminds her too much of her days wasted on Jakku, slaving away to Unkar Plutt, watching the stars for a family that never came.

Poe navigates out of Hoth's atmosphere. Soon, they're moving through the stars at a rapid pace.

"Hold on! We're making the jump!" Poe calls, from the cockpit. "BB-8, punch it!"

Rey grips the seat as the  _Falcon_  is propelled into hyperspace, and the stars blur into one another outside her window.

Rey settles back in her chair, letting her mind run circles around the mission.

Chandrila is a small planet, located in the Inner Core. It was the first capital of the New Republic, though the headquarters moved to rotate the Hosnian System before Star Killer Base destroyed it. The Chandrilans are peaceful, and Rey hopes they resent the First Order enough to consider an alliance.

She mulls over the activity of the past twenty-four hours, her new status as an official Resistance commander, the fact that D'acy trusted her enough to complete a diplomatic mission that could secure the future of the rebellion.

"How're you, Rey?" Finn says, softly. Rey looks at him, reading the knowing look in his eyes, the lines in his brow, the worry in his voice. He knows the nature of her thoughts. He knows her better than she lets on.

"I . . . It's a lot to take in." She says. She draws a deep breath, knowing it's pointless to try and put into words just how much her head is spinning, the weight she's carrying on her shoulders. Pointless, when she's got a burning secret gnawing on her insides.

Finn nods, frowning.

"You can talk to me, Rey."

"I know." She says, quietly. Her mind wanders to the day they met, the mission that started it all. She could be wasting away on Jakku, rotting in the desert sun, scratching marks on the wall of Hellhound Two. Finn got her out of that shithole. She didn't know it then, but she knows it now. It's a debt she'll never be able to repay.

She meets his eyes, sees the longing, the sadness, reflected there.

"We're here!" Poe calls, interrupting them. Rey rushes to the cockpit, Finn in tow. She gazes out the window. Chandrila looms in the distance.

He picks up the transceiver, and the radio crackles to life.

"Hello?" A voice filters through the radio, cutting in and out.

"Yes, hello. I'm Poe Dameron, captain of the YT-1300 light freighter approaching Chandrila's outer sphere. Requesting permission to land. We're here to negotiate an alliance on behalf of Leia Organa and Larma D'Acy, of Warlentta."

"Please hold, Freighter YT-1300."

The radio fizzes and dies.

Poe looks at Rey and shrugs. Barely a minute passes before the radio comes to life, again. It's a different voice.

"Freighter YT-1300, there's a launch pad on the south side of the capital. You'll see the coordinates on your panel."

The radio cuts out again, and Chewie aligns their landing equipment, tapping the coordinates into their system. Poe expertly navigates the Falcon over Hanna City, Chandrila's capital, and lands on the specified launch pad. Finn lowers the ramp, and Rey makes her way down, squinting in the sun. BB-8 rolls ahead of her, whirring and beeping. Rey takes a breath, comforted by the weight of the blaster bouncing against her hip, concealed under her cloak.

Two Chandrilans, man and woman, await them on the launch pad, dressed in handsome robes of blue. The man extends his hand to Rey, and she takes it.

"Welcome. Call me Damian Abernathy. I'm a member of Chandrila's Head Counsel." He gestures to his companion, a beautiful, dark haired woman. "And this is Elara, of Coruscant."

Rey smiles, shaking his hand.

"Rey."

Abernathy nods, graciously, and turns to Finn and Poe.

"You must be Poe Dameron, famed Resistance pilot. Even in the Core, word gets around." Abernathy says, wringing Poe's hand. He chuckles.

"Come, follow me."

Rey glances at Finn and Poe. Poe shrugs, and follows the man.

Abernathy boards a small shuttle, and they follow. The craft whizzes down a busy street, lined with a marketplace. Various droids and Chandrilans roam the streets, going about their mid-afternoon activities. Rey watches them with growing curiosity. The shuttle stops, abruptly, outside of an ornate, marble building. Abernathy offers his hand to Rey, helping her down from the craft. He leads them up a vast staircase and into the building.

Rey's eyes widen. She doesn't think she's ever seen a building so beautiful. It's almost entirely made of marble, adorned with blue and violet banners. Ivy crawls up the building's pillars. Large, clandestine statues stand like sentries at every corner.

"This is the Senate House, here in Hanna. It's mainly used for Council meetings, in the recent years. It used to host of the New Republic's representatives. Your own Princess Organa lived here, in Hanna City. I used to be a Senator, too, before the headquarters relocated. I decided to stay here, on Chandrila." Abernathy explains. "I'm surprised Leia didn't pay a visit, herself."

"She's dead." Poe says, flatly. The smile slides from Abernathy's face, and his eyes darken.

"I'm sorry to hear it. I knew her well. We were colleagues and friends. She was royalty, truly." He says. Rey looks at the man and realizes, with a pang, that his eyes are glittering with tears.

He pulls himself together, and strides off down a long hallway. He opens a door, leading them down another set of stairs. A garden surrounds the building, full of flowers and fronds and ivy. A babbling fountain resides in the center, and the pathways are paved with cobblestone. Rey absorbs it with wide eyes, appreciating the beauty.

Abernathy leads them through the garden and into a second, smaller building. They proceed up another flight of stairs, pausing on the landing. Abernathy gestures down the hall.

"You'll find guest rooms on the left, each with a washroom, in case you'd like to freshen up, after your travels. You've been invited to dinner, tonight, with some of the council members. There, we may discuss the alliance you're proposing." Abernathy smiles, kindly. "If you need anything, come to me."

Rey tugs at the neckline of her dress. The gown is pale blue, and frustratingly clingy. She rubs her bare arms, feeling to vulnerable, too exposed. Gods, she grew up on  _Jakku_. She's never worn a dress in her entire span of years, let alone one so alluring and elegant. The thing reeks of expense, from the vibrant color, the way it flows between her fingers, falling in graceful swaths of fabric, just brushing the floor.

Elara, Abernathy's colleague, brought her the dress in the hours after they'd settled into their quarters, informing her of the formality of the event, and insisting it required such attire. She's glad for it, now, as she sits at the long table alongside the Chandrilan Council. Finn and Poe are also dressed in sleek, tailored suits. Poe's completely at ease, conversing with an older, Chandrilan woman dressed in emerald green robes. His hair is slicked back, cheeks ruddy with drink and laughter, eyes glinting with jovial charm. But Finn seems to share Rey's discomfort. He meets her eyes, grimacing.

 _I must look ridiculous_ , she thinks, miserably, and shifts in her seat. The damned dress sticks to her, chaffing against her skin, slick with sweat.

Rey's not a diplomat. She'd much rather be in the training yard, battered and bruised, than at a dinner table, dressed in fancy clothes, navigating confusing and pointless conversation, sweet-talking various lords and ladies, senators and generals. That's politics. Leia was a politician. Rey is a scavenger from Jakku, a pilot and a soldier. This is not where she belongs.

A droid offers her a tall glass of dark liquid. She accepts it and raises it to her lips, taking a sip. She cocks an eyebrow, surprised by the bitter taste. It's wine, she guesses.

"Alderaanian. The best, in my opinion. None of the cheap Bantha fodder that smugglers covet so fiercely." Abernathy says, and tips his glass towards her. She smiles, thinking of Han.

Rey continues to nurse the wine, slowly but surely growing used to the taste. She works her way through five courses, growing increasingly full and sleepy. As the night draws on, she realizes the wine is making her mind foggy and slow, so she switches to water, disliking the feeling.

She glances at Poe. He's talking animatedly with Elara. Her hand rests on his shoulder. She bats her eyelashes at him and pours him another drink as he boasts about some mission or other. His voice has gotten noticeably louder in the last hour or so, and Rey glances at his glass, realizing he's had a bit too much to drink, himself.

Serving droids clear the remnants of their meal, and Abernathy leans back in his chair, hands folded in front of him. He smiles, widely.

"So, let's talk." Abernathy says, and the conversation ebbs. Poe sits up, wine sloshing in the glass clutched in his fist. "You're proposing an alliance." He says. It's not a question.

"Yes." Rey says, glancing at Finn and Poe. "I'll start by explaining our situation." Rey pauses, eyes skimming the faces of the Chandrilan Council. "We are facing dire circumstances. The First Order decimated our entire fleet. Our numbers barely reach three-hundred. We can't continue to fight the First Order without adequate ships and weaponry."

"We ask that you provide us with ships, an army, perhaps, so that we can continue to resist the First Order's reign." Poe interjects. Rey nods.

"Frankly, we're defenseless. And desperate."

Abernathy nods, leaning back in his chair. He meets her eyes, evenly.

"I like you, Rey. You've got Leia's spirit. It saddens me to see you wasting your breath on a dying flame." Rey's heart sinks. Abernathy frowns. "Unfortunately, I can't help you. You must understand, I cannot risk endangering the lives of my people to help a band of rebels."

"Forgive me, Sir, but this isn't the morale I expected from you. Without the New Republic, the First Order holds supreme reign of the galaxy. People are suffering, dying. They're holding onto the hope that the Resistance will restore justice and peace to the galaxy. And you're ready to destroy that hope, because you're unwilling to take a chance." Rey says, angrily. "My sincere apologies, but I can't accept that."

"I will not hear these imprudent accusations. I cannot gamble with the lives of everyone on Chandrila for a hopeless cause."

"You'll stand by and watch as millions of people remain oppressed and terrorized by the First Order?" Poe asks, bitterly.

"Facing the First Order without a proper army is suicide. You must know that. You're a fool to believe otherwise." Abernathy replies, coolly.

"They're calling Kylo Ren the new Vader. Surely, you must remember the Empire's reign of terror?" Finn asks, quietly.

"I do. I remember it as clearly as I remember watching the sky bleed red as Starkiller Base destroyed the entire Hosnian System. My mind is made up."

"You'll regret this. This is cowardice." Poe says, through gritted teeth. "This is treachery! Leia wou—"

"Leia's gone." Abernathy says. He looks old. His face looks withered, the lines around his mouth and eyes seem, somehow, deeper than they were before.

"You're welcome to stay the night, but I expect you to depart come the dawn's light." Abernathy says, cutting him off.

Rey pushes her chair back, rising from the table.

"We appreciate your time." She says, stiffly, and storms from the room, Finn and Poe trailing behind. She's shaking with anger. She clenches her hands into fists, trying control her temper. The wine isn't helping. She leans against the wall, pinching the bridge of her nose to dissipate the pressure. Finn places a hand on her shoulder. Poe fumes and curses, stomping off in the direction of the guest suites.

"It's alright, Rey. Finn says, touching her shoulder. "This isn't the end."

"You're right." Rey says, hollowly.

"Goodnight, Finn."

She follows Poe, making her way across the gardens with a heavy heart. Her thoughts are sluggish, and she can't shake the bitter taste Abernathy's words left in her mouth. She pulls open the door to her room, and pauses.

Ben's there, waiting for her.

**_Ben_ **

"You look . . ." He trails off, as Rey approaches him. He stares, forgetting himself. Greed bubbles inside him, hot and heavy. His eyes drink her in, eagerly, wanting  _more_. A swell of possessiveness overcomes him, and his mind is suddenly reeling, wondering who she's with, what she's doing, looking so goddamn beautiful in such a gown. Then he wants to slap himself. It's not the petty gown, it's  _her_. He wants  _her_. She's beautiful, in scraps of dirty, Jakku clothing, or dressed in simple gray pants and a tunic.

He'd always imagined her in long, black robes, lightsaber in hand, the glowing weapon reflecting in her eyes, so like dark, glittering jewels. His princess, his Jedi Knight. The light, within darkness.

His train of thought derails when he sees the look on her face.

Rey," He says, coming towards her. He dawdles, hand hanging awkwardly in the air. He wants to touch her, badly. It's ridiculous, how every ounce of his self-control dissipates, whenever she's near. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She says, and Ben frowns. He opens his mouth, to protest, but Rey shakes her head. "Please, Ben." She says. "Drop it."

"Alright." He snaps, but he's not angry, exactly. He's curious, more than anything, but he doesn't push it.

Her eyes contain dark, brooding storms. He can feel her energy, her darkness. It's a side of her he rarely sees, but it's captivating,  _invigorating_.

She's no Jedi. She's darkness and light, anger and tranquility, a river and flame and snow drifts and sunlight. He opens the bond, absorbing some of the conflict inside her, letting it cut through him like lightning, pooling in the empty spaces of his thoughts. If only she could  _see_  what he sees. She's not a Jedi, she's not Sith. She's more.

She wraps her arms around him. He shivers at her closeness, pressing his cheek against her crown. He'll never get used to this. This link, this connection, they share. His surroundings fade. He isn't aware of anything but the faint sensation of her, pressed against him, even though she's galaxies away. When he's with her, he's in some third space, a separate universe. A place only they can visit, together.

"I don't know what to do." She says, against his chest.

"What?"

"I can't be a Jedi. I can't be Sith. I can't follow the path you've chosen, but mine isn't so clear, anymore. And this . . . right here," she entwines her fingers in his own, squeezing. "This makes sense." She sighs. "This is where I belong. In between. With you."

**_Rey_ **

Heeding Abernathy' request, they depart in the early morning. Rey boards the Falcon, and BB-8 greets her, whirring and chirping. He bumps her leg, affectionately. She smiles, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Hey, BB-8. Let's get the hell off this planet."

BB-8 whirrs an affirmative.

Rey finds Poe in the cockpit, nursing a hangover, looking disheveled and moody. He sips coffee from a mug, running various system checks, grumbling to himself.

He smiles when he sees her, and offers her a second mug. She takes it, gratefully. Her head throbs, from last night's indulgence.

The radio crackles, and Poe picks up the transceiver.

"Commander Dameron?" General D'Acy asks.

"General D'Acy." Poe says, sitting up.

Rey settles in the chair beside him, sipping her caf, listening absently as he explains their situation to the General.

"I fear you'll find more of the same, throughout the system. It's a big risk to take, a bigger price to pay." General D'Acy says.

"We've gotta try." Poe says, fiercely.

"Keep in touch, Dameron."

"Will do, General."

The radio cuts out, and Poe replaces the transceiver, running a hand through his hair. Rey cocks an eyebrow.

"We're heading to Warlennta. It's D'Acy's homeworld." Poe tells her. "Then I figured we'd hit some of the systems in the Mid Rim. Takodana, possibly. Or Naboo. Leia's got ties, there." Rey nods, knowing it's as good a plan as any.

"You're a pilot." He says. It's not a question.

"I dabble." Rey says, and laughs.

"Well, Chewie's napping, and I'm not in the mood to lose an arm to that fleabag. So, unless you want to risk your limbs, you're my co-pilot."

"One step ahead of you." Rey says, and taps a few commands into the dashboard. The Falcon's engine roars to life. Poe grins.

"Hang on!"

The Falcon rises in the air, and Rey feels a spark of excitement flutter in her chest. She loves to fly, always has. If she had it her way, she'd fly around the galaxy and back, for the sheer joy of the thing.

They navigate out of Chandrila's atmosphere with ease. As the Falcon climbs into the stars, Rey keeps an eye on their transceiver and tracking systems, watching for any sign of First Order Dreadnaughts The skies are clear, and Poe urges the Falcon forward, cruising away from Chandrila and towards the Mid Rim. Rey glances at the window, watching the curvature of Chandrila's surface grow small and blurred as they put distance between themselves and the planet.

When they've reached a safe distance from the planet, Poe launches them into hyperspace.

General D'Acy's speculations prove true.

The leadership on Warlentta receives them without objection, greeting them with hospitality and kind smiles, but when Rey proposes an alliance, they refuse. The same is true for Takodana and other, Mid Rim worlds. As they approach Pleione, a peaceful moon in the Western Reaches, their request for entry into the inner sphere is blatantly rejected.

Rey spends hours pacing the main hold of the Falcon, tearing at her hair, agonizing over the fact that they've been gone for almost a week without a single agreement or measly starfighter to show for it. They've made zero progress. No one's willing to help. No one wants to take a risk. It's as if all hope has burnt out, in the galaxy. She can't accept it. She won't.

When Rey expresses her frustrations to Finn, she sees her own helplessness reflected in his eyes. Poe, however, remains optimistic. He's holding onto hope with fierce adamance. Twice, he brings them near trouble as he argues, brashly, with lords and senators. He's incredibly good at holding his liquor, and incredibly bad at holding his tongue.

They stop on Neira, a small, desert moon, to refuel. Rey and Finn leave the confines of the Falcon to explore the trading post just south of the port. They make their way through the busy street, wide-eyed, absorbing all the bustle of life. An old woman selling fine jewelry, while a man in simple clothing offers dried fruit and various goods. A young boy gallops through the dust, a toy X-Wing Fighter clutched in his fist.

Rey pauses, inspecting a beautiful, woven tapestry. She turns, meaning to point out the fine stitching to Finn, when a hand closes around her forearm, and it takes her brain a minute to catch up with the rest of her as she draws her blaster, heart leaping into her throat. His hand closes around her throat, and panic drowns out her senses as the oxygen leaves her lungs. Rey struggles in his grasp, kicking and clawing.

Behind her, Finn grunts. She hears the scuffle of boots in the dirt and a gasp of pain and knows he's cornered, as well. She tries to yell, dragging her fingernails down the side of the man's face.

"You're making this difficult, bitch." He growls, and the sour stench of his breath permeates the air. He draws his fist, striking her in the temple, and she cries out, firing blindly. She hears the hiss of burning flesh as her shot makes its mark, and her attacker yelps in pain. She wrestles free, looking around wildly, searching for Finn.

He's got his back against a wall, fumbling with his blaster. Two more cloaked figures are closing in on him. Rey draws her attention back to the man who grabbed her. She presses her blaster against his temple. He whimpers, clutching his side, where a scarlet stain is spreading.

"Please . . ." He cries, desperately. "You don't understand, I—"

She glares at the man, anger and fear running in her veins, hot and pulsing.

"Please, don't . . . . don't kill me, please." He gasps, helplessly, spittle flying from his lips. Blood leaks from the marks her fingernails left on his cheek. His eyes are rolling in their sockets, wild with fear. "I was paid."

"Paid? Who do you work for?" Rey demands.

"The First Order." He says, voice shrill and wrought with distress. "Please, I'll do anything."

Rey keeps the blaster trained on him, enjoying his discomfort. Her body and mind are alive with adrenaline and dark energy.

She pulls the trigger, and the man slumps to the ground. Dead.

She staggers back, suddenly dizzy, and the energy coursing through her veins bleeds out of her. She lifts a hand to her temple, and her fingers come away bloody. There's a cut where the man hit her, and a bruise is forming over her temple. She can feel the hard knot growing where his knuckles struck her skull.

Blaster fire rings through the air, and Rey starts. One of Finn's attackers falls to the ground and doesn't get up, lying motionless in the dust. He's still taking fire from the second attacker. Finn dives behind a weathered statue.

All around them, people are yelling, running for cover. Rey lifts her blaster and fires. Her shot hits the man clean in the chest, and he drops to his knees. She rushes over and puts another shot through his head, finishing the job.

She goes to Finn and pulls him to his feet.

"You alright?" She asks, panting.

"Yeah. You?" He says, touching the cut on her head. She nods.

"I'm fine. Let's go, it's not safe here."

They jog back to the Falcon, blasters in hand, pushing through the crowds of screaming, yelling people.

On the Falcon, Poe is waiting for them, face tight with worry.

"We have to go." Finn says, grimacing. "First Order bounty hunters. Not pretty."

"Shit." Poe swears. "Where?"

"They cornered us in the trading post, the city center. Three of them." Finn says.

Poe's brow furrows. He makes his way to the cockpit, and Rey follows him. He throws himself into the pilot's chair, and the Falcon's engine roars to life.

"Chewie, let's get the hell outta here!"

**_Ben_ **

Ben steps off the turbolift, cursing. He enters the command bridge. Hux is waiting for him, wearing a peevish grin. His face is twisted and marred from the wound Ben gave him, and he wears an eyepatch now, to conceal the gaping hole where his eye should be.

"Supreme Leader Ren, we've good news."

"Enlighten me." Ben drawls, bored, dearly wishing (for Hux's sake) that whatever Bantha fodder he's concocted is, in fact, worth his presence.

"Our search for the Resistance is over. We intercepted a radio signal from the infamous  _Millennium Falcon_ , linked to a transceiver on an old Rebel base in the Outer Rim. On Hoth,

Ben's breath snags in his throat. The Resistance. Rey. A fist clenches around his lungs, and dread settles in the pit of his stomach.

He should be glad. Victory at last. This is his chance to snuff out the Resistance . . .

Rey.

Once again, Rey stands in his way. She'll die, protecting that base.

Ben fights to keep his face unreadable, a trying feat, considering he'd spent the better part of seven years hiding behind a mask. He straightens, sweeping toward the control panel. A faint, blinking light illuminates their tracking systems.

"Shall we proceed, Supreme Leader Ren?" Hux asks. Ben doesn't look at him. He's trapped. He can't refuse the chance to obliterate the Resistance. He can't throw this away with both hands. If he did, he'd lose the allegiance of the First Order. Ben stares at Hoth's light on their tracking system, not meeting his eyes.

"Yes. Prepare our forces." He says, hollowly. Hux nods, sneering. Ben grits his teeth, clenching his fists. He feels eyes on him and makes for the door, desperate for air. The door slides open, and it's all he can do to keep from running down the corridor as he makes for turbolift. He forces himself to take slow, measured steps.

He slumps against the wall of the lift, thoughts scattering a million different directions, and all he can think is that he needs to warn her, he needs to get to her, before it's too late. She's got a price on her head. Hux blames her for Snoke's death. She's a target. And Gods, if she dies, if he loses her . . .

Fear overwhelms him. He reaches for her, as the stars collide, and his world careens out of control.

**_Rey_ **

"We can't keep doing this." Finn says, angrily, slamming his fist on the control panel. Rey starts, at the noise. BB-8 beeps, nervously.

"Finn . . ." Rey begins. He whirls around, eyes flashing.

"No! It's too dangerous. Rey, you've got a price on your head, and the  _Falcon_  is easily recognized by the First Order. It's suicide."

"We've made it this far. We're really gonna stop, now?" Poe says, angrily. "We're gonna let a couple idiots with blasters stop us?"

"Idiots paid by the First Order." Finn interjects, frowning.

"Where's the spirit in that? We can't call this off. Leia would wan—"

"Leia's gone, Poe. And we're out of luck."

"Finn . . ."

"Maybe that idiot from Chandrila's right. Maybe it's foolish to resist the First Order. Maybe we can't win this one."

"Finn!" Rey yells, standing up. Blood rushes to her cheeks, and her head spins. She's shaking with anger. She could slap him.

"Foolish or not, it's the right thing to do. Maybe we're on a suicide mission. Maybe we're crazy. Maybe we're completely bonkers. But we  _must_  to do this. We're the Resistance. We're the only thing standing in the First Order's way. We're the galaxy's last hope." She takes a breath, trying to keep herself from flying off the handle, completely. Her temper bubbles so close to the surface these days . . .

She glances between them, breathing heavily. There's a pounding in her head that won't go away. The cockpit spins, and she's dizzy.

"I need air."

She gets up and storms from the cockpit, leaving them staring after her. The urge to destroy something, to take a lightsaber to the  _Falcon_ 's main hold and tear it apart, is so strong she staggers back, dizzy, overwhelmed with rage. She's so  _angry_ , and she can feel the dark energy pulsing around her.

She thinks of the man, the bounty hunter. She thinks of his face, the way it looked, as he sank to his knees before her, begging her for mercy. She recalls the way she taunted him, the way she felt, when she killed him. Almost . . . joyful.

She pushes the thought away, afraid she's going mad. She's about two steps from falling off the edge. Perhaps, she has more darkness in her than she lets on. Perhaps Ben's right.

It's incredibly un-Jedi like of her, to kill, like that. The Jedi Order frowns upon it. She should've taken him into custody, brought him to trial . . .

She goes to a bunk and sits down, grateful neither Finn nor Poe is stupid enough to follow her. She's trembling. She clenches her fist, and her fingernails dig into the skin of her palms.

They've been out here for more a week. And for what? A couple of dinner parties and a surprise attack by a trio of bounty hunters. This isn't how it's supposed to go. She can't accept it.

The Force shifts, without warning. She freezes, trying to pinpoint the change in energy. She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to tame the fire inside her. She dips into her mindscape, attempting to untangle the threads of energy. Ben's pulsing light brushes against her mind. He's trying to reach her. She opens the bond, calling his name.

_Ben._

He's there, in front of her, eyes wild with fear.

"Ben, what's—"

"Rey, you need to leave." He says, grabbing her hand.

"What're you talking about?" She asks.

"You've been exposed. The base, on Hoth. They're coming for you, you need to get out."

Rey's stomach drops through the floor. She staggers back.

"How?" She asks, voice barely a whisper, as she struggles to comprehend the enormity of his words.

He shakes his head, wildly.

"It doesn't matter! You need to get out, Rey! Save yourself, before it's too late. There's nothing you can do for them."

She blinks, head spinning. She lets go of his hand.

"Call it off, then."

Ben shakes his head.

"I can't. It's out of my hands, now." He says. "The First Order isn't loyal to me, any longer." Rey searches his face. He's telling the truth.

"I have to go back." She mumbles.

"What?"

"I have to go back . . ." She turns, making toward the cockpit, heart beating in her throat. Ben grabs her wrist, wrenching her towards him.

"Let go!" She snaps. He's got her hand in an iron grip, and she wrestles with him, trying to pull away from his grasp.

"Kriffing hell, Rey. You can't go back."

"I have to. I have to save my friends . . ."

"They're not worth it." He shouts. "They're not worth your life."

"Yes, they are."

"Rey." He says, and his eyes are shining with tears. His lip trembles. "Please."

"Ben, I can't . . . "

He shakes his head, lip curling.

"Gods, Rey, don't you see?" His growls, voice roughened with emotion. "I can't lose you."

He takes her face in his hands and kisses her.


	5. The Nameless Moon

**_Ben_ **

He's consumed with the sensation of her lips pressed against his own, so very different form the time he kissed her in the Med Bay, as the life bled out of her. This is different. This time, she reciprocates, lips sealed to his, and there's fire behind it. Light and darkness and energy, blending and warping and humming with their combined force.

He reaches up and tangles his fingers in her hair, pulling her closer. Her fingers are curled around the collar of his uniform. His very being is on fire, crackling with electricity, and it stems from the contact points along his skin, where he can feel her, pressed against him. His mind is reeling. It's like nothing he's ever felt. He kisses her harder, desperate, trying to make her understand how much danger she's in. Trying to make her see how much he needs her, that he can't lose her . . .

She breaks away, looking at him with such fierceness burning in her eyes he's sure he'll melt. He'll break into a million pieces, or sink through the floor. He's trembling. She touches his face, cupping his cheek against her hand, thumb tracing the scar she gave him. Electricity explodes across his skin at her touch.

"I'm sorry." She says, and there are tears in her eyes. "I have to go."

She fades away, leaving him scattered and torn apart, unbalanced.

He draws a fist and drives it into the wall of the turbolift. Two of his knuckles split open. He squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his hands, and blood runs from the cuts and pools in the lines of his palm.

He's seeing red.

**_Rey_ **

Rey breaks the kiss, stepping back. She gasps, unable to think straight, desperately trying to get oxygen to her brain. Her heart is racing, and blood rushes in her ears. She's overwhelmed with a new kind of hunger, and there's a strange ache deep in her belly. Her lips are tingling with the memory of him, and she's overcome with the urge to pull him close, again, to kiss him like her life depends on it. He is fire and blood. He's a storm.

She settles for a caress of the cheek, touching the scar that divides his face, feeling a pang of guilt shoot through her. It's stifled by the terrible, overwhelming fear that grips her like a fist, squeezing the air from her lungs. The Resistance is exposed, in danger. They're oblivious.

"I'm sorry." She tells him, taking him in, trying to burn this moment into her memory. "I have to go."

She drops her hand, and breaks the connection. She staggers against the wall for a moment, panting, lips still wrought with the sensation of his mouth pressed against her own. He tasted like fire and blood and sweat and something sweeter, desert flowers and rain and wind. She wants it. She wants him.

There's no time, now. She bursts out of the bunk and makes toward the main hold. She finds Poe and Finn in the cockpit.

"We have to go, right now!" She yells, panting. Finn and Poe flinch, puzzled.

"What? You just said—"

"I know what I said. The Resistance is in danger. The First Order's planning an attack on Echo Base." She says, words tripping over one another on their way out of her mouth. "They found us."

Poe's eyes widen, wild with fear.

"How d'you know?" Finn asks, uneasily.

"I just do! C'mon, we need to warn them. We need to go back." Rey says, desperate.

Poe fumbles with the transceiver, raising it to his lips with trembling hands, and tries to reach the base on Hoth.

"Poe?" A familiar voice asks, on the other end.

"Connix! Yeah, it's Poe. Listen, we've been exposed. The First Order's preparing to attack, as we speak. Prepare for evacuation. We'll get there as soon as we can."

"What? Poe, how—"

"Tell D'Acy. There's no time." Poe says, cutting her off. He cuts the signal, and busies himself tapping commands into the panel.

"Alright, hold on! We're making the jump."

Rey grips the back of Finn's chair for support as it launches forward. The stars bleed into one another, and their surroundings fade as the ship propels into hyperspace.

Rey sits in the gunner station, hands on the toggles, as the  _Falcon_  soars over the base. The First Order's TIE fighters are swarming over the base, blasting anything that moves. Rey's body is alive with adrenaline. Her heart beats in her fingertips, in her temple. She fires, taking a wing off one fighter, sending it spiraling to the ground in a plume of smoke.

"Nice shot, Rey!" Poe's voice filters through her comm.

Rey scans their surroundings, firing at TIE fighters as they advance. Resistance rebels are fighting on the ground, barraging the First Order's army of stormtroopers with blaster fire. Rey picks off their ground canons, rewarded by blasts of debris and smoke.

She fires at another knot of TIEs, holding them off enough for Poe to pull off a one-eighty turn, looping back around. He dives low, and Rey takes a shot at an AT-AT as it approaches. Its leg crumbles and detaches, and the AT-AT topples to the ground, sending a plume of snow and debris spraying in every direction.

"Yes!" She pumps a fist in the air, invigorated.

"We gotta take out enough of their fighters to get down there and get everyone on board. We need to evacuate." Poe says, over the comm.

"That's impossible!" Finn yells.

"Nothing's impossible!" Poe retorts. "Hang on!"

The  _Falcon_  accelerates, gaining altitude. Rey fires, disabling an AT-AT's canon. Poe pulls the  _Falcon_  into a wide arc, circling around the base, and Rey takes out another pair of TIE fighters. The Force is humming inside of her. She extends her mindscape, feeling the energy, reacting to it. The Force's energy moves around her and inside of her, seamlessly binding her mind and body.

Through the Force's web of energy, she can sense Ben's presence. He's a passenger on the sleek, black command shuttle. She recognizes the ship. It hovering hovers of the  _Falcon_ 's range. His presence is comforting.

She brushes against his mind, and he reacts like a magnet, pulling her in. Fear, for her safety, filters through the bond, raw and uninhibited by barriers. It's so acute, so overwhelming in its intensity, it takes everything in her power to keep her senses focused on the task at hand. She draws energy from him, and the bond fuels her fire, sharpening her senses, guiding her shots.

Poe makes a sharp turn, throwing a persistent TIE fighter off their tail. Rey fires, and the wing is torn away. It falls out of the sky, crashing into the snow, below.

Poe guides the  _Falcon_  into another, wide sweep around the base, unknowingly putting the ship directly in danger's path. A shadow blots out Hoth's sun, and Rey swivels, mind catching on split seconds too late.

The  _Falcon_  takes a direct hit.

It shudders and dips, and Rey's overwhelmed with the nauseating sensation of the free-fall. She's thrown against her seatbelt, and the strap collides painfully with her sternum. Rey registers an awful, grating screech as the  _Falcon_  crashes to the ground, and the scent of smoke and burning things. A bright flare of pain blossoms behind her eyes, and she blacks out.

Rey blinks, and the world swims in and out of focus. The scent of smoke and fuel fills her nostrils. She coughs, and bright spots erupt behind her eyes. A wave of nausea overcomes her, and she barely has time to turn her head before she vomits, upending her lunch onto the floor of the gun station. She heaves, and a supernova of stars pepper her vision. She squeezes her eyes shut.

Alarms are blaring. She's disoriented, blinking. A sudden wetness on her upper lip startles her. It's blood. There's blood streaming from her nose. She tries to lift her hand, to wipe at her face, but it's so heavy . . . she can barely move.

She looks around for Finn, and Poe, and tries to call out, for them, but the alarms drown out her voice.

Her surroundings continue to fade in and out. Her head aches, and she strongly suspects she might've sustained a concussion, in the fall. She can't be sure. It takes every ounce of willpower not to black out entirely. With enormous effort, she lifts her arm and reaches for the seatbelt, fumbling with the buckle. It's jammed.

She can't move. She waits, clinging to consciousness, for the First Order to find her.

After a while, Rey hears voices and footsteps approaching, though she can't make out what they're saying. The seatbelt is cut away, and someone grabs her roughly under the arms and hikes her out of the gunner's seat. They drag her down the  _Falcon_ 's ramp. She tries to wrestle from their grasp, but she doesn't seem to be entirely in control of her body, and every effort sends waves of pain rocketing through her entire body. Her head is especially sensitive, and a throbbing pain grows in her temple.

She's dragged, carelessly, through the snow. She squints, and a First Order ship swims into view. It's the Ben's shuttle. A flicker of hope grows in her chest.

Her captor shoves her to the ground a few yards from the ship. She lands in the dirt, gasping. She can feel herself slipping. She clenches her fists, and the sting of her fingernails breaking skin keeps her clinging to consciousness.

The ramp deploys, and a tall, red-headed man descends, dressed in sweeping, black robes.

"Good. Bring the rebel scum on board." He says. Her captor grabs her upper arms and forces her up the ramp. Rey struggles, and his knee connects with her ribcage. She gasps, tears springing in her eyes, feeling the oxygen forced out of her lungs. She drops onto the floor of the shuttle, palms striking the cool tiles.

Rey's struggles to sit up, wheezing. Blood dribbles down her front, and the taste of it only worsens the nausea. She bites back the bile in her throat, reaching for breath.

A rough hand grabs her by the hair, dragging her across the floor. She screams. A fist strikes her jaw, and she groans. lifts her head, looking at her tormenter, the red-headed general. His face is pinched and scarred, and he wears an eyepatch. He leers at her. Fear twists in her gut.

"You're a gutter rat. You're nothing but rebel scum." He kneels, fingers stroking along her bruised temple. She meets his eyes, evenly, and spits bloody saliva in his face. He scrambles backward, repulsed.

"How dare you . . ."

He slaps her, across the face. The sound and color in the world drowns, for a moment. Her cheek begins to swell, almost immediately, reddened by his hand.

"That's enough."

Rey turns, attempting to focus on the source of the voice, dangerous and cold. It's Ben. Her eyes find his, lips moving in silent pleas.

"Supreme Leader Ren, I've got the girl." Hux says, happily. "She's to blame for Snoke's death. She deserves execution by the cruelest hand."

Ben's face is unreadable. He approaches Hux, slowly, eyes never leaving Rey's face. Rey tries to reach for him, through the bond, but he's keeping himself carefully guarded.

"General Hux, I fear you've made a grave misstep."

"Pardon, Supreme Leader Ren, but I—"

The bond opens, without warning, and Rey almost loses her hold on reality entirely as the emotion hits her, the sheer intensity of it sweeps her away, pulling her head under the waves. It's pure, white-hot rage.

Ben draws his lightsaber, igniting it, and swings it in a wide arc, above his head. He brings it down, hard. The blade sings as it cuts through flesh and buries deep inside his chest. Hux falls to his knees, swaying, and tips backward. Rey's vision flickers, grainy and full of static, and she slumps onto the floor, unconscious.

**_Ben_ **

Ben watches as they bring Rey aboard, rage pulsing through him, helpless and desperate as they push her roughly onto the tiled floor. The stormtrooper, her captor, lands a blow to her side, another to her temple, and she cries out in pain. It takes every ounce of willpower he has, to resist tearing the man apart, piece by piece. He tries, desperately, to close himself off from the Force, from her. If he lets her in, he won't be able to stop himself. He'll fall apart.

Hux gets his hands on her, dragging her by the hair across the floor of the shuttle's main hold, and Ben nearly whites out in anger. Because that filthy scum is touching what's  _his_. Because  _Rey_  and  _hurting_ are part of the same thought in his head. He nearly goes berserk, wanting,  _needing_ to protect her. Something inside him snaps.

He draws his lightsaber, dark energy thrumming through his core. He murders Hux in one, fluid motion, savors the agonized grimace that crosses man's face, mouth agape in a silent scream. Ben Force-pushes him backward, and he tumbles down the ramp. Hux's stormtroopers fumble for their blasters, but Ben's ready. He turns, palm outstretched, forcing them out of the shuttle's bay door. He presses the button, and the door slides shut.

"Rey . . ." He whispers, dropping to his knees beside her. He pulls her into his arms. She's battered and bruised, bleeding from nose, eyelids fluttering as she struggles to stay conscious. There are several bruises all along the right side of her face. Her lip is split, her left cheek red and swollen where Hux slapped her. He can the imprint of Hux's fingers branded in her skin. Angry tears stream down his face. That filthy bastard touched her, his ugly fingers marked her, his Rey . . .

He lifts her, gently, and lays her across a bunk in one of the smaller compartments. He turns, making for the door, when she grabs his hand. He freezes, turning towards her.

"Ben . . ." She starts, breath hitching, and he melts, a little.

"It's okay. You're safe. Rest." He says, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her grasp on his hand loosens, and she closes her eyes, drifting off. He dawdles, for a moment, watching her, suddenly drained and exhausted, wanting nothing more than to lie down beside her on that bunk and enfold her in his arms.

Ben gives his head a little shake, remembering himself. He makes his way to the cockpit and sits in the pilot's seat, tapping a few controls on the panel, disabling the tracking systems and starting the engine. The radio pings, as the flagship tries to make contact. He ignores it, flicking a switch to silence the voice.

He killed Hux. He severed all ties with the First Order. Any authority, any allegiance he had, he threw it away with both hands. He named himself a Resistance sympathizer and a traitor. There's a price on his head, now. He can't go back.

All he can think is he has to get them out, and fast. The Resistance is doomed. She won't like it, but what choice does he have? He can't leave her here. Every particle of his being is screaming at him to leave, to get Rey as far away from this mess as possible. His world is burning, falling, crashing around him. Everything he's built is going up in smoke. And part of him is glad.

His mind is reeling. He struggles to fill in his next plan of action. He runs through a list of neutral worlds in his head, trying to pick a suitable destination.

The command shuttle's engine hums to life, and lifts into the air. The shuttle accelerates, soaring above the trees and the remains of the base. The shuttle shudders, and the lights flicker. They're taking fire. A pair or TIE fighters are trailing the shuttle. Ben steers the shuttle in a wide turn, facing the oncoming fighters, and fires. The TIEs collide, erupting in flame.

The shuttle launches into Hoth's atmosphere. Once they're out of range, Ben begins weeding through a map of the current systems. A moon, in the Outer Rim. Small. Nameless. Ben sighs, touching the map. There's no record of sentient lifeforms there, at all. Only forest, green.

It'll provide adequate cover, a place to lie low, until they can plan their next move

He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

He warms up the hyperdrive and prepares to make the jump, praying the First Order's too preoccupied with the Resistance fighters to pursue him.

The shuttle launches into hyperspace, and Hoth fades into a blur of light.

**_Rey_ **

Rey squints, in the darkness. She's lying in a bed. Several blankets have been carefully drawn over her. Rey blinks, trying to make sense of her. Every muscle protests as she struggles to sit up. She's in some sort of house, a cabin. The walls and roof are wooden. A fire crackles, comfortingly, in the fireplace on the opposite wall.

_Where . . ._

Her heartbeat pounds in her head. Rey lifts her shirt, touching the bruises blossoming over her ribcage, a flowering of purple and blue and black. She winces, tending to the bruise on her temple, her split lip. She wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, tasting the blood.

She's lightheaded, dizzy. Rey closes her eyes, trying to clear her head. Everything rushes back, at once, like a sucker-punch to the stomach. She remembers the attack on Hoth, the crash, Ben . . .

Ben.

She stumbles to her feet, making towards the door. The room begins to spin, and she staggers, squeezing her eyes shut, leaning against the wall to keep herself from falling. The door creaks open, and Ben steps over the threshold.

She freezes, eyes locking on his face. He gazes at her, brow furrowing.

"You're hurt." He says, pulling away.

"I'm fine." She lies, feeling anything but. She's having trouble stringing two thoughts together, and the throbbing in her temple is only worsening, as she struggles to comprehend their current situation. "Where . . . where are we?"

"A moon in the Outer Rim. We'll be safe here, for now. You need to rest." Ben says.

"Ben, I can't stay." She says, shaking her head. "I need to go back, I need to help my friends."

Ben frowns.

"There's nothing there for you. The Resistance is gone."

"I need to go back." She says, making toward the door.

"Rey, stop . . ."

"No, you don't understand, I—"

"Look at me!" Ben yells, catching her wrist. She whirls around, staring at him. There's some of the old Kylo Ren in his face, his voice. He's looking at her like he owns her, like she's some plaything that he can manipulate.

"You can't go back! It's suicide! They're dead. Let them die. There's nothing left. Rey, it's time to move on."

Anger explodes in her chest, vibrating through her core, setting her body aflame.

"You kidnapped me! You expect me to run off with you, to pretend like everything's fine. I can't! I chose this path. I'm with the Resistance. I can't turn my back on them. And you can't force me to stay!" She yells, wrenching her hand from his grasp, angry tears springing in her eyes.

"I split from the First Order. For you. Do the same for me, Rey. Let go!" He says, angrily.

"You didn't leave the First Order because of me." She spits. Ben cocks an eyebrow, closing the space between them. He towers over her, lip curling, every bit the menacing, manipulative dark-sider she made him out to be, when she first met him in the woods on Takodana. He towers over her, and her gut squirms in silent terror, but her rage overpowers it. She meets his eyes, clenching her fists tightly.

"I didn't?" His voice loses some of its ferocity. "I betrayed my people. I killed Snoke for you. I made my choice, and it's you. Why can't you do the same?"

"Come with me." She says, quietly. "Join the Resistance."

"The Resistance is gone."

"You're wrong."

"Am I?" He barks a humorless laugh, eyes flashing. "Enlighten me."

"If there's hope in the galaxy, the Resistance lives." Rey says.

Ben scoffs, lip curling. "A couple hundred people and a few junked ships against the entire First Order Fleet, and you think they  _survived_?

Rey's stomach drops, a little, at the shadow of truth in his words.

"I have to try, Ben."

"You're naïve." He says, dully. "You're a fool."

"Maybe." She spits, glaring at him. "At least I'm not a coward."

She stumbles to the door and storms from the room, desperate to get away from him. She staggers down the hallway, and the ground rocks and pitches under her feet. She clings to the wall, for support, and reaches the front room. She opens the door and steps over the threshold.

The moon is teeming with plant life. The cabin is situated on a hill, surrounded by a vast expanse of trees. The command shuttle occupies a small clearing, only a couple yards away.

Rey lowers the ramp and climbs inside the ship, wandering through the dark, tiled corridors until she finds the cockpit. She takes a seat in the pilot's chair, tapping into the transceiver. She skims the channels, listening for any sign of Resistance survivors, and all the while blood rushes in her ears and rage boils, hot and heavy, in her gut. Over the transceiver, she catches fragments of conversation, foreign tongues, unfamiliar voices. She strains her ears, holding her breath, feeling the hopeful flame inside her diminish with each passing minute. There's no one there.

She's alone.

She slumps back, clenching her fists, feeling the walls closing in on her. She's stuck here, with no way to contact Finn or the others. She doesn't know if they made it off Hoth, if they're still alive . . .

She presses her hands over her eyes, warding off the monsters threatening to swallow her. Her anger gives way to a sort of hysterical desperation. She has to get back. She has to save them, damn Ben and this kriffing moon and his master plan to play the hero.

Before her brain catches up to her body, her fingers are flipping switches, pressing buttons on the control panel of Ben's shuttle. The engine roars to life, and she seizes the yoke, nudging the shuttle into the air.

**_Ben_ **

Ben stares after her, rage bubbling in his gut like poison. He stands, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal, wanting desperately to break something.

It passes like a fleeting shadow, leaving him drained. He mulls over the argument in his head. Rey's adamance leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. How can she be so naïve to think the Resistance survived that attack? They're outnumbered thousands to one, trapped like fish in a barrel. They're dead, and there's nothing left for her.

She's rash, reckless.

He can't lose her. He can't let her go back there, even if he has to destroy every karking ship on this moon, to keep her here, safe and in his sight. Force be damned.

He makes for the door, heading for the shuttle. A low, insistent rumbling fills his ears, and his stomach jumps into his throat. He rushes onto the porch, just in time to see the shuttle lifting off the ground.

"Rey!" He screams, blood rushing to his face. He thrusts his palm out, clenching an invisible fist around the shuttle. Its ascent stops, abruptly. It hangs there, in the air, struggling against his will and the g-forces acting upon it. The engine squeals, as Rey accelerates, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. He jerks his arm, pulling the shuttle to the ground. The engine cuts, and the ship tilts downward, nose-diving into the earth with an earsplitting crack. The sound of splintering wood and metal fills his ears, as the wing of the shuttle collides with a tree.

Ben takes an involuntary step backward, stunned, watching the shuttle as it slides on its belly, a few feet, swept by the momentum of the combatting forces. It creaks to a stop, tilting on its side. The engine gives a final, weak pop and falls silent.

He finds her in the cockpit, sitting straight-backed and silent in the pilot's seat. He pauses, gazing at her, trying to navigate her emotional waters.

"Rey," he begins, but before he can say any more, his lightsaber flies from his belt and lands in her outstretched hand. She ignites it, leaping from her chair, rounding to face him. She runs at him, glowing red blade raised above her head. He ducks, catching her wrist. For a moment, they're locked in a stalemate, gazing into each other's eyes. The saber throws long, angular shadows over Rey's face, and there's an angry, scarlet glint in her eyes.

"Let go." She hisses, attempting to tug her wrist out of his hand. He gazes at her, somber.

"Will you kill me?" He asks, as he does, releasing his grasp on her. For a moment, he thinks she might do it, deliver the blow that finishes him. End it. For good. Instead, she deactivates the saber, and it clatters from her hand. Her fist connects with his nose. He staggers back with a grunt of pain, bringing a hand to his face. Blood leaks between his fingers.

Rey throws herself at him, punching and kicking and scratching every inch of him she can reach. He attempts to block her blows, throwing up his arms to shield himself from her attack. She drags her fingernails down his face, and blood begins to leak from the long scratches. He catches her wrists in his hands, stopping the blows. She cries out, furious. She regards him, for a moment, raw fury and rage evident in her face.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, inside her, that rage melts away. Her body goes slack, and she slumps against him, sobbing. He grunts, surprised, and wraps an arm around her shaking shoulders.

Her emotions are spilling into the bond like water from an overflowing sink, a scattered mess of grief and frustration and guilt. It breaks over his head like a wave, stealing the breath from his lungs. Her floodgates are open, his walls are down. Her colors are bleeding into him.

She presses her face into his chest. He lifts her into his arms and sinks to the floor, holding her. His heart is racing, throbbing in his temple, his fingertips. She's huddled against him, and he's taken aback. He'll never get used to her. The black folds of his cape seem to swallow her, whole. It's a wonder that someone so small, so fragile, contains so much. Multitudes. A supernova, a universe; unrestrained, unbidden power.

He holds her for a long time, soothing her, rocking her like a child. She quiets, after a while, and the flow of emotion between them ebbs, a little. He draws a breath, feeling stripped and rubbed raw but cleansed, somehow.

She gazes up at him, eyes glittering with tears. Strands of dampened hair are plastered to her face. He wipes the wetness from her cheeks, blinking away his own tears. She's the most beautiful goddamned thing he's ever seen.

"Rey," He begins, but she shakes her head.

"Let me go." She moans. "I have to go."

Before he can respond, she dissolves into a kind of hysteria, inconsolable, until exhaustion overcomes her. Her sobs quiet, and she slips into unconsciousness.

He carries her back to the cabin, and she falls asleep in his arms, head lolling against his chest, exhausted. He lays her on the bed in the back room, hesitates, and plants a kiss on her forehead.

His head is foggy. He stumbles down the hall and collapses on the sofa in the living room, drained, body and heart aching. He closes his eyes, and drifts off.

Ben sits up and stretches, squinting in the light. His back aches, and every muscle is tight and sore. The sofa is too small, and he spent the night curled in a fetal position to avoid spilling over the ends of it.

Gray light filters through the windows. Gingerly, he gets to his feet, glancing around the room.

The cabin is small, only two rooms. There's the bedroom, and the front room, which contains a living space and a small kitchen, with a stove and a sink. There's a small bathroom, down the hall.

He didn't think any sentient beings inhabited the moon, and yet, the cabin is man-made. He found it by chance.

He thinks of another cabin, another planet.  _Falcon_ 's hyperdrive malfunctioned, grounding them. He stayed with his father, at a cabin not unlike this one.

 _It belongs to an old friend,_  Han said. He remembers hiding under the bed in the back room as thunder rumbled overhead. He remembers the way his father coaxed him out and held him and comforted him.

He was five years old.

He swallows the lump in his throat, shoving the memory into the deep, dark reaches of his mind.

By the look of it, no one's been here in years. There's a layer of dust on every surface, and cobwebs adorning every corner.

Ben pads down the hall, stifling a yawn. He pauses outside Rey's open door, listening to her deep, even breaths. He sighs, relieved, grounding himself in that slow, natural rhythm. It's music, to his ears.

In the kitchen, he searches through the cabinets, heeding the demands of his grumbling stomach. He finds nothing but rat droppings and dust and a dead beetle. He swears, under his breath.

Outside, the sun's first rays are just peeking out from the hills surrounding the valley. Wind rustles through the trees, brushing across his face. Ben pulls his cowl over his head and makes his way to the shuttle, accompanied only by the wind and the sound of his footsteps over the gravelly soil.

The crash gouged a long tear in the hull. The right wing is broken, dangling by a few, bent metal beams from the body of the ship.

He boards the craft, assessing the damage. Red lights blink, weakly, on the console in the cockpit. He runs a system check. The engine is dysfunctional, and the hyperdrive is short-circuiting.

He fiddles with the control panel. Luckily, the transceiver is operational. He scours the First Order's frequented channels and tracking systems. It's all radio silence. All is quiet, in their current sphere. Ben doesn't know if he should be worried or relieved.

Ben paws through the storage compartments until he finds a stash of dehydrated ration packs. It's enough for a week, tops. But, it'll do.

He returns to the cabin, sorting through the rations. It's quiet, in the cabin. Too quiet. He goes down the hall, widening the crack in Rey's door. The bed is vacant. Ben sighs, heavily.

This isn't the first time she's slipped out from under his nose. He doubts it'll be the last. He searches the cabin, and finds it vacant. The only sound is his own breathing, stirring the dust and the ghosts in this place.

He rushes outside, searches the shuttle. Nothing. He reaches across the Force web, searching for her pinprick of light. He finds it, letting the Force guide his footsteps up a sloping, grassy hillside. He finds her, there, sitting in the shade of a weathered tree. She sits with her legs crossed, facing away from him.

He settles himself on the soft soil, a meter away from her. She doesn't move, doesn't give any indication that she notices his presence.

He grits his teeth, angry.

 _Look at me._ He wants to scream.  _Say something. Scream. Hit me, again, like you did in that shuttle. Rake your fingernails across my face, bury your fist in my gut. Hurt me. Hurt me, because I crave the pain. Hurt me, because it reminds me I'm capable of feeling something. Anything, at all._

Rey shifts, on the grass. A slight movement, barely a shiver.

"Ben."

**_Rey_ **

Inhale.

Exhale.

Rey keeps time with the movement of her lungs, counting the seconds between breaths.

The sun warms her back, and a light breeze stirs the strands of hair around her face. She sits on a sloping hill, overlooking the valley. The trees spread out before her like a vast, green quilt.

She closes her eyes, allowing herself to slip deeper into her own consciousness. She lets the Force guide her; It's a lamp, guiding her footsteps. She struggles to bring her mind to the center. It's straying, off the path, taking her down a road she'd rather not travel. Not yet. She keeps at it, determined to take control of her own thoughts, her own mind.

The Force alerts her to the presence of a beetle, in the soil; a pair of birds, soaring through the air; a rodent, in its burrow. She recognizes these presences, pinpoints of light in the Force's expansive web. There are darker points, too. A rotting corpse, rushing water, howling wind.

She summons energy from the web, the dark, the light. The colors bleed into one another, and she drifts, farther and farther away from her body. She descends into the web, feeling the conflicted energies pulling at her body. She thinks of Poe and Finn, the Resistance, and wonders if she could find them through the Force . . .

The sound of footsteps brings her back to the present. She opens her eyes.

He doesn't make a sound, but she can feel him. She can feel the darkness, swirling inside him. The unease, the want, the rage.

"Ben." She says.

He sidles closer, and she turns, glaring at him.

"Go away." She snaps. Ben blinks, frowning. He doesn't budge.

"What do you want?"

In answer, he pulls a ration pack from the folds of his cloak. He sets it on the grass, between them. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Starving." She says, flatly. "But I don't want your food. I don't want your pity."

"I don't pity you." He says, quietly. "It's called generosity."

Rey scoffs, climbing to her feet. She stalk off, without a word. The sloping decline gives way to flat land. The gravelly soil crunches under her feet. She wanders, letting her feet carry her away from the crashed shuttle, away from the cabin, away from  _him._

She enters the tree line, fingers trailing the bark of trees, the plant life, letting herself enjoy the green and the birdsong. After a quarter mile, or so, she discovers a patch of bushes, heavy with berries. She crouches, picking them, and pops them into her mouth as she walks. The berries are juice-filled and sweet, soothing the aching hunger pains in her stomach.

The trek through the woods clears her mind, enough to mull over her current predicament, her options. She could look for a town, a port of some sort, and hope that someone is generous enough to give her transportation to the Outer Rim. But that could mean days, weeks, of wandering. It would be dangerous. It would mean risking wandering for days, starving, dying somewhere, in the wilderness. Alone. She could wait it out, stay with Ben, persuade him to take her back to the Resistance. No. He's bullheaded. An idiot. She can't count on him to get her out of here. She can't sway him. Plus, the idea of relying on him, for anything, revolts her.

The trees grow sparse, as she turns back, and stop altogether. The broken, tattered remains of Ben's shuttle sits, still and silent, beside the cabin. She glances around, lowers the ramp, and boards the ship. She runs a hand over the console, the machinery, inside the shuttle.

 _Talk to me, dear,_ she thinks.  _Tell me your secrets._

She takes a quick inventory of the damage. The engine and the hyperdrive are down, for the count, as well as the right wing and the ventilation systems. It's fixable. She would know. She spent the entirety of her childhood gutting ships, rewiring circuits, repairing parts for a chance at a full belly. Why should this be any different?

Rey considers it, for a moment, and sets to work.

The sun is sinking in the sky, and Rey's tinkering with the ventilation system. Ben isn't in sight, and Rey's beginning to wonder if he wandered off, got himself into trouble. One less thing to worry about.

When it grows too dark to see, Rey searches the compartments for a flashlight, and comes up empty-handed. Forced to retire, she enters the cabin.

Ben is waiting for her, sitting straight-backed and unflinching, on the sofa. She regards him with a cool, masked stare.

"Ben." She says.

"Why?" He asks. She cocks a brow, confused.

"The Resistance doesn't own you, Rey. Why go back?"

"They're my friends. I can't abandon them." She folds her arms. "And you don't own me, either. I'm not your prisoner. You can't hold me captive, here."

"Yes, I can." Ben hisses, through gritted teeth. "You're  _mine_."

Rey shakes her head, sadly.

"No."


	6. Nightmares

**_Ben_ **

Ben watches, from the porch, as Rey tinkers with the ship. Frustration gnaws at him, like a parasite. Why can't she  _see_? He  _saved her life_.

She's ungrateful, uncivilized.  _Feral._

_Why does he care so much?_

He can't begin to answer that question. He only knows that she captivates him. She taunts him, tortures him, lingering out of his reach. She doesn't look at him. Doesn't speak to him. They coexist, in silence. Playing house.

It continues. Her, spending the days ignoring him, refusing food, fixing the shuttle. Him, pining for her, dreaming of her, loving her and hating her, simultaneously. Dreams plague him. The phantom Rey in his dreams straddles him, puts her mouth on his skin, tastes him, begs for him. He wakes in a sweat, hard and ashamed, to a cold and vacant cabin. Other dreams find him on that bridge, igniting the lightsaber, ending his father's life, or watching Rey's life bleed from her, while he sits by, powerless to stop it. He dreams of his mother, growing wizened and frail. He dreams of nebulas and galactic storms, the birth of stars and the death of them, too, and the infinitesimal flickers and pulses of light and dark, spanning for billions of lightyears, across the galaxy.

Once, he wakes to a mind that isn't his own.

He's standing in a desert, watching a ship as it rises and takes off, into the air.

"Come back!" He screams, desperately. Tears blur his vision and stream down his face. The sun stings his skin, and dust chokes his lungs. Someone's grasping his arm, and he can't escape the harsh grip.

"Come back!"

The ship disappears, into the atmosphere.

The scene blurs and fades.

Three figures, in hoods, kneel before him. A lightsaber vibrates in his hand, a glowing scarlet. He raises it above his head and cuts them down, one by one. The figures fall, blood spilling from the wounds. He recognizes the faces. Poe Dameron and FN-2187 and . . .

Leia.

Screams echo in his head, and agony rips through his chest, choking him, as he realizes what he's done.

"No." He moans, dropping the blaster. "No . . ."

He turns on his heel, making for the door, but a shadow steps into his path, blocking him. The shadow reaches up, removing its hood . . .

And he's staring himself in the face, skin ghostly white and gnarled with scars. There's a flash of red light, and a gaping slash appears across his chest. His eyes roll into his head, and blood begins to pour from those vacant, glassy orbs, from the corners of his mouth . . .

Ben jolts awake, pushing himself up. His breath catches in his throat, and tears stain his cheeks. Someone's screaming, and it takes him a moment to realize it's Rey. He springs to his feet and tears down the hall, wrenching the door open. She's thrashing, tangled in the sheets, locked in some nightmarish world of her own invention, screaming at monsters he cannot see.

He rushes to the bedside, heart leaping into his throat.

"Rey." He says. "Rey, wake up, you're dreaming . . ." He pleads. Her eyes dart around beneath her eyelids, and worry lines are etched deep in her brow. She doesn't stop, continuing to thrash and punch and claw at the air. He climbs into the bed and pulls her into his arms. She resists him, hitting him, still locked in the nightmare.

"Rey! Rey, it's me. You're dreaming." He says, panicked, and catches her wrists, attempting to protect himself from her frenzied blows. She wakes with a choked sob, disoriented, gasping for breath.

"Ben . . ." She whispers and bursts into tears. He wraps his arms around her, holding her. She's trembling. He clings to her, needing her touch, her closeness, as much as she needs him. Her screams still echo in his head, and the image of his mother's fallen body still flashes before his eyes.

"Rey . . ." He says, tears spilling onto his cheeks. "You're okay. You're safe . . ."

She nods, gulping, wiping at her eyes.

"I saw . . . I k-killed . . . Poe and Finn . . . Leia, a-and . . ." She sniffs, trailing off.

"I know, Rey . . ."

"It's my fault!" She chokes, clamping a hand over her mouth.

"You didn't. It's not real." He pulls away, taking her face in his hands. Fresh tears glitter in her eyes, staining her face. He wipes them away with his thumb. She grabs his hand, pressing it against her lips.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, voice breaking. He shakes his head, fingers drawing patterns over the trail of freckles on her cheeks.

He saw the nightmare, too. Somehow, they're linked, even in sleep. Even in dreams. He shivers.

"I-I . . ." She starts, and trails off, taking a shuddering breath. "It's my fault, and I don't know if they're dead or alive, and I . . ."

She dissolves into hysterics, again, sobbing. His heart breaks for her. He holds her close, and she buries her face against his chest, reaching for breath.

"Rey." He whispers, and her name is a prayer. He pushes a sense of inner calm, across the bond. Images, too. Memories. A meadow, snowfall, and an expansive, infinite tapestry of stars. He clings to her, whispering soothing words into the darkness. Eventually, her sobs subside.

She pulls away, touching his face.

"Rey?" He asks.

She blinks, gazing at him.

"I'm sorry." He says.

"Me, too."

**_Rey_ **

He lays on the mattress, pulling her closer. She huddles against him, still shaking, and he wraps an arm over her, instinctively. She's so close their breath mixes. Her hands are curled and resting on his chest. He presses chaste kisses to her crown, her brow, her lashes.

Despite the conflict between them, despite everything he's done, despite who he is, who she is, despite the fact they're standing at a precipice, it feels natural. There's something  _right_ about it. About the way her head fits on his chest, above his throbbing heart. About the way his scent and his voice soothe her. And she can't ignore the bond. It hums, between them, alive and unapologetic. There's something else at work, here. A third party. Whether it's fate or the Force or a space-time continuum or the work of the gods, themselves, they're bound.

She can't run from him. That much is certain. That however far away she gets, however many walls she puts up, to protect herself from him, her path will lead back to him. And it's better, isn't it, that they remain allies instead of enemies? That they share a bed, rather than face off on opposite sides of a battlefield?

She can't fight. She can't run. And he's here, and he's steady and he's strong, and she knows, deep down, there's some light left in him. Maybe,  _maybe_ , there's an answer to this that doesn't end in fire and blood.

Maybe.

She's too exhausted, too heartsick, to work out the mechanics, now. Her eyelids grow heavy, and she struggles to keep them open, and succumbs. She closes her eyes, letting the sound of his rhythmic breathing lull her into a sort of semi-consciousness. She can feel the soft edges of his dreams. Before long, she drifts off.

**_Ben_ **

When he wakes, the bed is empty. He disentangles himself from the sheets, and finds Rey on the porch. She sits, staring out into the woods, surrounding the cabin, knees tucked to her chest. He settles himself beside her.

"You alright?" He asks, voice roughened from sleep. Her eyes flit to his face, startled.

"Yes." She says. "Yes, I think so."

"What  _is_ this place?" She asks

"I don't know. No one's been here, for a long time. According to the star map on the shuttle, the moon doesn't even have a name." He pauses. "It's a good place to lie low without risk of being found by the First Order."

"You know better than I." She says, shrugging, and Ben suspects it's true. After all, she did spend most of her life on a planet widely considered the armpit of the galaxy, similar to Tatooine. Jakku is nothing but desert wastelands, with a couple of slums and junk trading villages cropping up every couple hundred miles or so. And she doesn't know the First Order like he does. This is the last place they'd look.

"We're just going to hide out, here? What about your master plan? I thought you wanted to rule the galaxy."

Ben scoffs.

It's hard to rule the galaxy when you're a fugitive, running from your own faction. He could join his Knights, on Ventos. Returning to the First Order isn't an option. And the thought of showing his face on the Resistance base makes him want to run himself through with his own lightsaber. And of course, there's Rey. She stares at him, eyes alight and burning like bottled nebulas, insistent . . .

"I . . . I think it's best to stay here, until things settle down." He says.

"How long?"

"I don't know." He says, shortly. She opens her mouth, closes it, giving him a hard look.

"You're running away." She says, quietly. "From the war. From your fate. From everything."

"No." He says, shaking his head. He gave up everything for her. Rey, the scavenger. Rey, from Nowhere. His equal, in the light. He's not running. This is what was meant to happen, he's convinced. He's certain every path before him leads straight to her. He doesn't know if ruling the galaxy fits somewhere in that equation. He doesn't really care. For better or worse, they're bound by fate. And if this is following the path the Force has laid bare, for him, so be it.

He can't possibly make her understand. He can't put it into words, when he's just beginning to piece it together, himself. So, he leaves it to intuition, to the bond, hoping she gets it, hoping she sees the truth, in his eyes. Hoping she understands.

She picks at the weeds, growing up in between the porch's wooden boards. She twirls one between her thumb and forefinger, frowning.

"I . . . you're right. There's nothing left, on Hoth. Not after that attack. And, even if the Resistance survived, there's no way to reach them. I'm stuck. And I don't . . . I don't want to fight. I guess . . ." She falters, meeting his eyes. "I'd like to propose a . . . a truce."

"A truce." He repeats, mulling it over. She nods, knotting her fingers together. She licks her lips, nervously. "Arlight." He says. Rey regards him, thoughtfully. Hesitantly, she sticks out a hand. He takes it.

**_Rey_ **

Rey returns to the grassy knoll, to meditate. She chases circles around her head, attempting to clear her mind, failing miserably.

Ben settles himself on the grass, directly opposite her.

"You aren't focused." He says. She scowls. He looks at her, frowning. "You need a teacher."

She says nothing.

"I can teach you. Rey, let me show you." He says, holding out an ungloved hand. She takes it, feeling a rush of  _something_ stirring, deep inside her. She gazes at him, watching his eyes. There's light, in them. Excitement. Something else, almost . . . gentle. Tender. It's a part of him she rarely sees.

"Close your eyes." He instructs. She does, hyper-aware of the contact points—his fingers, entwined with hers. She shivers.

"Breathe."

She does, inhaling and exhaling in time with him.

"Let go, Rey." He says.

And she does.

He's there, with her. A strong presence, a magnet. A beacon. She's drawn to him, as an insect is drawn to light. She doesn't fight it, this time.

The Force rushes in, casting a warm glow over her mind, filling her body, her veins. She gasps as the feeling breaks over her head like a wave, dragging her under. She lets herself drift, weightless.

Ben's energy envelops her, and his mind brushes against hers. The bond is open, and his thoughts spill into her mind. She doesn't try to pull them apart, nor examine them. She reciprocates, strengthening the bridge, building trust. She carries him, as he carries her. And deeper, they dive.

Their combined energies—pulses of light and dark—blend into one another, a perfect balance.

The Force spans out, before them. A river, a web of light and dark threads.

She's still adrift. It's pulling her, downstream. She doesn't fight it. Ben's there, an unshakeable presence. A faint, washed-out voice accompanies the rushing water. She lets herself float toward it, curious, succumbing to the pull.

_Rey?_

She opens her eyes, breath catching. Ben's mouth twitches.

_I feel you._

Rey smiles.

_I, you._

"Let's go for a walk." She says, standing, pulling him to his feet. He doesn't object, following down the grassy hillside, into the woods. The foliage is thick, and Rey moves carefully, attempting to find secure footing amidst the tangle of roots and branches and decaying plant matter. Branches and thorns bite at her ankles and arms, but she doesn't mind. She runs her hands along the rough trunks, enjoying the tranquility, the quietness, of the woods. The Force's energy, beautiful and balanced and calm, hums in her body. Rey smiles, despite herself.

Ben trails behind her, quiet and careful, stalking through the brush like some primitive predator, alien and beautiful. He's a destructive force by nature, but he moves through the woods carefully, almost gracefully. It's a near-incredible feat, considering his size.

The trees thin, and Rey stops on the bank of a small lake. A thin, chuckling stream feeds it, and the water is crystalline, clear. Rey lets go of Ben's hand and leans against a tree, slipping off her boots. She approaches the water and dips her toes in, shivering with pleasure.

On Jakku, she'd discovered a pond fed by underground springs. It wasn't big, and the water was cloudy and uncomfortably warm, but it sufficed. At the time, she'd never seen so much water in one place. She knelt, gorging herself on the life-giving liquid, alert and listening for the slightest sound, the rustle of an approaching foe. She kept her hands tight around her staff, prepared to kill, should someone intrude on this newfound luxury. After she'd drank her fill, she waded in, washing the dust and grime from her skin. There, she taught herself to swim.

Rey gazes at the dappled sunlight, glimmering on the surface of the lake. She's grimy, after the bombardment on Hoth, the crash. Dust from Neira still clings to her skin. There's dried blood sealed on her forehead and under her fingernails, congealed in her hair. She strips down to her undergarments and dives into the water.

The water's coolness envelops her body and she shivers, letting a stream of bubbles escape her mouth and nose. She turns over, watching the rays of sun break apart and scatter as they strike the surface. When she runs out of oxygen, she kicks, bursting out of the water. It isn't deep. When she stands, the water kisses her belly-button. She wades to the lake's bank, and mud squishes between her toes.

Ben looks at her, cocking an eyebrow.

"What's wrong? Can't swim?" She asks, splashing him. He dodges the spray, frowning.

"I can swim." He says, shortly.

"Well, come on, then."

Ben grimaces, uneasy.

Rey smacks the water, sending a spray of droplets in his direction.

Tentatively, he removes his cowl, stripping away his boots, his shirt. Rey gazes at him, trying to force her gaze elsewhere and failing, miserable. Her eyes wander to the muscles along his chest and abdomen, the veins running the length of his forearms, his narrow hips . . .

He dives in, after her. Water sprays in every direction, and little waves lap onto the muddy embankment. He makes a lap around the lake, swimming in easy, sure strokes. She watches, treading water. He dives under. Thirty seconds pass, then a minute, two, three . . .

"Ben?"

She's preparing to dive under, preparing to haul his half-drowned ass out of the water, when he resurfaces and scoops her into his arms. She cries out, laughing, as he tosses her into the water, and she hits the surface with a splash. She yanks on his foot, and they tussle, in the water, limbs tangled, wrestling. He resurfaces, coughing and spluttering, shaking his long, jet-black hair out of his eyes.

Soon, she's exhausted, unused to treading water for so long. She climbs onto the embankment and settles herself on a large, sun-warmed stone. She dangles her feet in the water and combs through her hair with her fingers. Ben joins her, settling himself on the bank.

Rey gazes at him, eyes sweeping his chest, the odd constellation of freckles splashed across his bare shoulders. Her eyes linger on his lips. There's heat, low in her abdomen. In her span of nineteen years, no one has ever made her feel like this. And she's only ever been kissed once. But it was an impulsive kiss, full of fear and confusion.

She wonders what kind of women Ben's taken, in bed. He's older, and a prince. Vader's heir, by birthright and practice. He'd probably had his share of nights with mistresses and whores. The thoughts that flood her mind, unbidden, make her cheeks burn. She averts her gaze, knowing if she keeps staring at him like that, if she keeps thinking  _those_  thoughts, she'll burst into flames.

She takes a breath, settling against the rock. The sun is warm on her skin. Their surroundings are tranquil, bathed in birdsong and warmth. She lets her eyes fall closed, keeping herself grounded in the Force, remaining watchful and alert. She doesn't trust him. Not yet.

In the evening, they return. Ben disappears, into the refresher. Rey bounces, on the balls of her feet, and goes to the shuttle. She boards the ship and enters the cockpit, settling cross-legged in the pilot's chair, leaning over the console. She activates the control panel, watching as various switches and lights begin to blink.

Rey picks up the transceiver and turns the dial, sweeping the channels, searching for something,  _anything_ , that could give her a sign, a bit of hope, that Poe and Finn and the others are alive.

After a half-hour without luck, she shuts off the radio, worrying her lip. Fresh tears threaten to spill over her lashes, and she wipes at her eyes, furiously.

If the Resistance is dead, then hope is dead. She refuses to believe it. Finn and the others are out there, somewhere. Alive. She keeps the spark alight, guarding it fiercely.

She closes her eyes, casting her consciousness across the galaxy. The space between worlds is vast and cold—a wasteland. She withdraws, helpless and frustrated and lost.

Rey knots her fingers together, mind racing, trying to form some sort of plan. A next step. She can't stay here, forever. She doesn't know the exact nature of Ben's intentions, but she knows he'll never join the Resistance.

She slams her palm on the console, frustrated. If she could contact the Resistance, reassure herself of their survival . . . She's checked every channel and communication system, and there's no sign of them.

She could leave a message. Maybe . . .

But it's dangerous. The First Order's looking for them both. Ben, the traitor. Rey, the last Jedi. They're probably monitoring all the star systems from here to Coruscant. They'd show up, circling like vultures, before she can say "thala-siren", armed and ready to kill.

She presses her fingers over her eyelids, praying to the gods and the stars and the heavens above for a sign, anything . . .

But it's radio silence, stretching as far as she can reach, she's lost.

A lump grows in her throat, strangling her breath. Her vision blurs. A choked sob escapes her lips, and one by one, her walls fall away. She lets the tears fall. She can feel herself breaking, falling apart, shattering. She gasps, drawing ragged breaths, and the tears stream down her cheeks and fall into her lap. Poe, Finn, Rose . . . She couldn't save them. She failed.

She clamps her hand over her mouth, as the tears come, helpless as her world splits in two.

That night, she retires to bed and watches the shadows on the wall, feeling empty. Her heart aches for her friends, Poe and Finn and Rose. They're alive. They escaped, somehow. She knows it. She can feel it.

She turns over, burying her face in the pillow, too tired to cry, letting the dark and quiet lull her into a disturbed and restless slumber.

It's no surprise, when nightmares come for her, again. Ben is there, to comfort her. And Rey falls asleep, wrapped in his warmth.

She wakes, in the late morning. Sunlight filters through the window. She opens her eyes, blinking, trying to gather her bearings. Her eyes are puffy and stinging, her face sticky with dried tears.

She's huddled against Ben, ensnared in his arms. The sun bathes his face half in shadow, half in light. The sight is jarring, almost poetic. His face is slack, almost peaceful, in sleep. His walls are down, and the sight of him, so vulnerable and unguarded, is such a rare and beautiful thing that she pauses, hardly daring to move, for fear of waking him.

Rey drinks him in, his face, his scent. His lips are slightly parted, and his breath stirs the strands of hair framing her face. His dark hair spills over the pillow, a cascade of jet-black curls. She maps the constellations of freckles on his cheeks, tracing his jaw, his brow, with a touch akin to moth's wings.

His calm, balanced energy hums inside her body, grounding her. She hadn't realized how much she craves his touch, his closeness. She sighs, closing her eyes, content to just lie there, in his arms, and let the universe carry on without them.

But the memory of the nightmare plagues her, and she grows restless, unable to erase the terrible images, the blood, the faces of her friends.

Carefully, she disentangles herself from Ben's embrace. He stirs, mumbling, and a crease appears in his brow. She turns away, tiptoeing across the room. Rey slips down the hall and out the front door, returning to the shuttle.

She strips wires and reroutes them, repairs the hyperdrive and rewires the engine, working with renewed fervor, determined to get off this rock. She bumps a live wire, and an angry red burn sears into the flesh on her palm. She hisses, in pain, sucking on the burn. She works, long into the afternoon, until sweat pours from her brow and her fingers are marred with cuts and scrapes and countless burns.

**_Ben_ **

Ben hisses, gritting his teeth, as pain explodes across his cheek. He draws back and launches toward Rey, pivoting, striking her left shoulder. She whirls around, tripping over herself, crying out in pain.

"Hey!"

She's wearing a blindfold, holding a broken branch in her hands, wielding it like a broadsword. She swings it in an arc, aiming a blow at his chest, and misses, almost losing her balance in the process.

"You're thinking too much. You're too controlling. Let go. Let the Force take over, let it guide you." He says. She reaches out with her hands, palms out, trying to re-orient herself.

"You make it sound so easy. I can't  _see_." She says, huffing in exasperation. "Why aren't  _you_ blindfolded?" She folds her arms across her chest, shoulders set. She'd look quite menacing if not for the ridiculous blindfold. He bites back a laugh, fighting to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"You've about one-thousandth of the training I've had. You need to learn to use your other senses." He says, patiently.

"You're not a very good teacher." She snaps.

"You're stuck with me. You said it, yourself." Ben says, rolling his eyes.

"Now, focus. Reach out, with your senses. Let the Force be your eyes, your ears. Listen to my voice." As he speaks, he stretches himself across the bond, giving her mind a gentle brush. He quivers, feeling the light's magnetic pull, not entirely resenting it.

"Do you feel me?"

She nods, and he feels a shiver run the length of her body.

"I feel you." She breathes.

"Use the Force to ground you, balance you. Trust it." Ben pauses.

Rey raises her weapon and advances, and they dissolve into a heated sparring session that lasts a small eternity. Every blow he aims at her is matched and blocked in perfect synchronicity.

She's a fast learner, skilled beyond her training. She's preternaturally attuned to the Force, at a level that extends beyond even his abilities. She's calm and collected at the best of times, and she uses it to her advantage. Where he is explosive, acting on rage, and rage alone before his other senses catch up, she is level-headed and careful. But then, Snoke always told him his emotions held him back from true power . . . He tried,  _gods_ , he tried. He tried to build his walls and cut his strings. He tried to ignore the pain, the ghosts, but he never could. He simply feels too much.

She's skilled, but inexperienced. He fills in the blanks, drawing on years of training and battles and bloodshed, paving the way for her, challenging her. She absorbs it, chasing after the heat of the battle, lapping up the lessons like a desert rat dying of thirst. He pushes her to the limit, forcing her on the defensive, and she reacts with equal fervor, delving into his mind, attacking his body.

She's energy, a burning star, strong for one so small. She's vicious, tearing at him, attacking him without relent, and her eyes take on a hard edge he can't ignore. There's darkness inside her. He feels it as sure as he feels the light's magnetic pull. It flows through him, chaotic and violent as a sea caught in the throes of a storm. It leaves him breathless and electrified.

She's radioactive. Every exchange elicits such turmoil inside him, pain and pleasure and fear and affection and  _want_ , it's overwhelming. She's a magnet, drawing him in, ensnaring him. She's bottled lightning and ocean waves and howling wind and he doesn't think he'll ever be the same.

When she's near, all his self-control dissipates. There's an untamed beast roaring in his chest, pining for her, and he's finding it increasingly hard to ignore her lips, the curve of her hips, her breasts . . . and beyond all that, her undeniable strength. Her innate goodness, her calm, in the chaos. He wants her. There's no denying it.

He tells himself he shouldn't. That she's the last of the Jedi Order, that she's standing on the opposite side of the war, that there's no conceivable way they could ever be together without disastrous consequences. He pushes the thought from his mind, afraid to descend into that uncharted territory, that ominous, black abyss. For now, they're together, and neither the First Order nor the Resistance can find them.

Rey breaks through his defenses, stopping his thoughts. He pivots, dodging the blow. Before he can attack, she ducks and turns, spinning the switch like a staff, forcing him into a defensive stance. He plants his feet, attacking with a cross-body slash. She blocks him, landing a blow across his shoulder blade and sternum.

He backs away, pausing to sweep a palm over his face, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"You need a lightsaber."

Rey drops her weapon, ripping the blindfold from her head. She blinks, in the light.

"I had Luke's, but it's on the  _Falcon_. We broke it."

"It can be repaired."

"No." She shakes her head, biting her lip. "I don't want to repair it."

He nods, dropping the issue. After all, it's time to let old things die.

"You need to build your own, then."

"I don't suppose you have a kyber crystal lying around?" She asks.

Ben smirks.

"No, but I know where to find one."


	7. The Trap

**_Ben_ **

They sit on the sofa, in the cabin, as night falls. She's sitting with her elbows resting on her knees, listening as he explains the nature of kyber crystals.

Building a lightsaber is a rite of passage for Jedi padawans, and it required a kyber crystal. Kyber crystals provide the lightsaber's main power source. Kyber crystals change color to match the wielder. While they're bound to their wielder, their allegiance can be bent and tainted.

They were harvested on Ilum, a planet in the unknown regions, but the Empire drained its resources. After that, they could be found scattered across the galaxy, hidden and hoarded and sold off for ridiculous sums, leaving a trail of thievery and bloodshed in their wake. And that trail isn't particularly hard to follow.

"Tyrin Wain sells kyber crystals on the black market. The last I heard, he's living in some hole on Takodana." Ben says. "He's inferior. A gluttonous rat, hoarding his blood diamonds. It would be easy, to get what we need."

Rey blinks, cocking an eyebrow.

"You're suggesting we risk a trip to Takodana? Now?" Ben pushes his hair out of his eyes, looking at her. Her face is masked and expressionless, though her eyes betray her. They're alight with something . . . hope, maybe?

"No. It's too dangerous, too easy for the First Order to track us." He picks at a loose stitch in the sofa's worn, stained fabric. "The First Order is disorganized, operating under poor leadership. It's running on the allegiances of weaker powers, won out of fear. Its more pressing problems will win out, eventually, and we'll be free to go our way without fear of being tracked down and cornered. We'll be forgotten, in time." He worries his lip, staring at his hands. "Until that time comes, it's not worth the risk."

Rey's facade caves, and disappointment alters her features. Ben sighs.

"I told you I'd help you. I told you I'd teach you the ways of the Jedi, and the Knights. You're powerful, Rey. And it's only right, that you should have a weapon that matches your abilities, in strength, as well as semblance."

"You'd have me cloaked in black. You'd have me wielding that bloody red broadsword." She remarks, a hint of amusement evident in her voice. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips. Ben meets her eyes.

Her hazel irises capture him, and he stares, losing himself in them. They're in-between, shifting oceans of deep, jade green and dusky brown, glittering like jewels. He finds himself staring at her lips, thinking about the kiss, the memory of her skin, how badly he wants to kiss her again . . .

He smiles.

"I'd make you a queen."

**_Rey_ **

" _Kriff_ , that's foul." She gasps. Her eyes water, and her nose and stomach burn as the liquid slips down her throat. Ben discovered the bottle of hard liquor in one of the cabinets. It's smells of antiseptic, and it  _burns_.

Ben smirks, tossing back his glass. He grimaces, wetting his lips with his tongue, and Rey's stomach does a funny backflip as he does. She sets the glass down, glaring at the seemingly harmless bottle of clear liquid, unable to fathom why anyone would want to consume such a thing. It's poison.

"It's not so bad." Ben says, roughly, though his face says otherwise. He shakes his head, gazing at her. She looks at him. The fire, crackling in the fireplace, throws shadows over his features. His eyes bore into her, deep and dark, so full of pain and raw emotion, and something she can't quite name. And it's easy to see why he always wore a mask. Those eyes betray him. He's incredibly emotive, for a murderous, dark side villain.

Once again, it occurs to her that she knows next to nothing about him. He's the infamous Kylo Ren, the most feared man in the galaxy, Master of the Knights of Ren, a powerful dark side Force-user. But there's more to him, a whole world of thoughts and emotions and fears and motives, fiercely guarded and hidden away, some of it even from himself. Sure, she's seen into his mind. She's felt his thoughts, caressed his memories. But there's a side of him she doesn't know.

There are parts of him she's never touched.

"I barely know you." She says, quietly. Ben blinks, taken aback.

"What?"

"We've never . . . we don't . . ." She struggles to find the words, and the liquor is already making her thoughts jumbled, foggy. She takes a breath. "Let's pretend, for tonight, that we're not on opposite sides of a war. Let's have . . . a normal conversation."

Ben shifts, uneasily.

"I can't pretend I'm a good conversationalist." He says. "I've never had a knack for small talk."

"I don't care for small talk, much, either."

Ben says nothing, staring at the floor.

"I'll go first, then." Rey says, leaning into the cushions, pulling her knees to her chest. She takes a breath, racking her brain.

"Uh, let's see . . . Jakku's my homeworld. I was a junk trader. I spent my days taking apart crashed star destroyers." She pauses, swishing her glass. "Dirty, dishonest work, I know, but it kept me alive."

Ben nods, doesn't comment. Rey presses on.

"I like flowers, and I collected them if I found them. I had a helmet that belonged to rebel Captain Dosmit Raeh, and I taught myself how to fly by using a simulator on an old starfighter computer. Flying was the only solace for me, in those days. I was lonely, and I guess, I don't know, I wanted to be somebody. Somebody more than the dirty little scavenger girl from Jakku. Rey from Nowhere." She pauses, horrified to find a hard lump forming in her throat. "When I wore Raeh's helmet, when I could be a pilot, I was more than Rey from Nowhere. I was somebody."

Ben's face changes, grows softer. Gentler.

"I wanted to be a pilot." He says. And another thought drifts across the bridge between their minds, so subtle and quiet she almost loses it in the traffic of other emotions running through him in that moment.

_I wanted to be my father._

Rey waits for him to breathe life into those words, waits for him to say it, to make it real, but he falls silent, withdrawing behind his walls.

"I think that's the only place I truly belong." She says. "Among the stars." She turns to him.

 _Say we'll go, sometime._  She thinks.  _Say you'll take me to the four corners of the galaxy, say you'll show me the things you've seen, the people you've met. Say we'll go somewhere we can be free._

He nods, almost imperceptibly, and Rey knows she need not speak it. It's there, between them, and there's no taking it back. It's a promise. A pact. Made in silence and sealed in fate, a desire shared by two people on the opposite sides of a war as old as time, driven by loneliness and bound by the Force.

"Tell me more." Ben says. "About Jakku."

Rey shakes her head.

"No. There's nothing left for me, there. Only bad memories and a bitter taste." Rey sighs. "It was a barren wasteland, and the days wore on, one just as dismal and gray as the last. And the monotony of it was unbearable, only punctuated by dust storms that lasted months on end. When the storms hit, everything goes black. The sand blots out the sun. Time doesn't mean a thing. It's enough to drive anyone mad."

She looks at Ben. She can see her own memory, echoed in his eyes. He's trying to imagine it. A barren wasteland, where the sun disappears for months. Where a little girl dressed in rags cries herself to sleep. Alone.

Rey looks away.

"I starved on Jakku. I fought for my life on Jakku, learned to defend it, and almost lost it, too, to foreginers and junk traders and rapists bigger and meaner than myself." She pauses, eyes welling with tears. "I only ever experienced rainfall on Ahch-To, after I left."

She feels stupid, telling him these things, but they're true. And, she guesses, they hold some pieces of herself. The first time she felt rain, she quickly decided it was one of her favorite things in the world. While Luke grumbled about it and pulled his hood up and stowed away in his hut, she stood under the open sky and let it trail down her face and her back and her fingertips, exalted, feeling like she'd uncovered some great truth.

Ben regards her, curiously, and Rey gets the unspoken sense that he's deciding if he should try to comfort her, or not. Concerned by the aching sadness inside her, concerned by the tears evident in her eyes. She flushes, knotting her fingers together.

"Your turn." She says.

He looks at her, incredulous.

"This is foolish. It's a waste of time." He says, impatiently.

"No, it's not. Tell me a story. Tell me anything." She insists, prodding his shoulder.

"I . . ." He hesitates, looking unsure. "I'm the Master of the Knights of Ren."

"No." Rey says. "I don't want to know about Kylo Ren." She says, and Ben opens his mouth, eyes flashing, but she presses on before he can interrupt. "I want to know Ben Solo." She reaches out, placing her hand over his, and she can't ignore the heat, the pulse of energy, that runs over her skin on contact.

Ben's eyes flick to their hands and back to her face. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. He picks up his glass, fills it, and downs it in one gulp. He wipes his mouth, and his eyes never leave her face.

"I lived on Chandrila, in my youth." He says.

"And . . ?" Rey prompts. He looks at her, blankly.

"And?"

"C'mon, Ben. It doesn't have to be your deepest, darkest secret." She says, rolling her eyes. "I've been to Chandrila. Hanna City's a bit crowded, for my taste. And the people are snobbish. I'm not quite fond of it."

"I wasn't fond of it, either."

"Well, that's something." Rey says. They lapse into silence, for a moment.

"You've traveled the galaxy, Ben. What's the most beautiful place you've ever seen?"

"I'm indifferent." He says, dryly.

"Kriff, you're impossible." She says, and pours herself another swallow of liquor. It scalds her throat on the way down, no better than the first. She gasps, wiping at her eyes.

"What was it like, when you were young?" She coughs.

"Lonely." He says. "Leia was busy, a representative of the New Republican Senate. And Han was . . . Han. Away, smuggling or drinking or gambling." He downs another drink, peering at her through bloodshot eyes. Rey blinks, surprised. It's the first time she's heard Han's name on Ben's lips.

"Ben, Leia wou—"

"Leia was scared, for me. I was some broken thing, and she didn't know how to fix me." Ben says, cutting her off. "And Han . . . he never understood. There was a void, a space, between us, and neither of us knew how to fill it. And he left. He took off in that karking ship and left my mother with a beast she couldn't tame. So, she sent me away."

He speaks in a distant, detached sort of way, like he's talking about somebody else. When he finishes, he glances around, almost guiltily, like he's worried he's said to much. His face is pinched and twisted, wrought with pain.

Rey's heart aches for him, for that little boy.

"Ben . . ." She begins.

"No matter." He snaps, icily.

"Ben." She says, again, and takes his hand. "I understand." She says. The link between them flares with sudden emotion, sorrow and longing. In her mind's eye, she sees Han, young and rugged, peering at her with sad eyes, tinged with disappointment, a bit of fear. Her heart aches, and she withers under his gaze, wondering what on the Core Worlds she could've done to make him look at her the way he does, now.

The memory dissolves, and she's peering into a bedroom, watching Leia as she sits on the edge of the bed, with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, shoulders shaking as she tries to stifle the sobs tumbling out of her mouth.

Flash forward, and Ben, a lanky teen, no more than fifteen, sits crouched in the long shadows of his room, hugging his knees to his chest, sobbing, as thinks tumble from the shelves and energy pops and fizzes under his fingertips, and a foreign tongue, a serpent's hiss, whispers lovingly into his ear. Rey wants to go to him, to gather him in her arms, to soothe away the shadows and the pain and that cold-blooded serpent's voice, the one she, herself, knows all too well.

The memory changes, again, and Rey watches the  _Falcon_  as it takes off disappearing into a dusky twilight. She feels the familiar, unabating ache of abandonment deep in her chest, feels the tears on her cheeks. This memory is not her own, but it's terribly familiar.

She shivers, grasping his hand tighter, and tears spill over her lashes. She blinks, gazing up at him, and Ben brushes the wetness from her cheeks with his thumb.

"I know." He says, and his face softens. The Force shifts, around them. Rey feels herself drawn to him, craving him, his touch. She's drowning in his eyes. He's looking at her like she's the first rain, after a drought.

She lifts her hand, cupping his cheek, and kisses him. And he's kissing her back. She doesn't really know how to kiss, but it doesn't matter. With him, there's no doubt, no hesitation. It's only the two of them, drawn together by fate and Force.

His lips are warm, and they taste like liquor, but something else, sweeter, and undeniably  _him_. She tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls him closer, kissing him harder. Her teeth graze his lip. He makes a noise, something between and yelp and a groan, and something stirs low in her belly. His hand slides down her arm and rests on the small of her back. Blood rushes in her ears, and her lips are aflame.

She's never been with a man, before. Not properly.

Sure, she's explored the indulgences of the human body on her own, alone, on Jakku. When she was sixteen, a traveler paid her a good portion for her pleasures. She felt dirty, used, but what else was there to do, really? She was starving to death, in that graveyard. Desperate. His efforts were clumsy and rough. It didn't last more than a few minutes, after which he'd gone without a parting word. And she'd lain there, staring into the shadows, listening to the wind entwining with her breaths, feeling cold and empty, as his seed dried on her thighs.

She pulls away, taking a breath, searching his face. She's surprised to find tears running down his face.

"Don't stop." He says, so she doesn't. She presses a kiss to his jaw, working her way down the column of his neck, tasting him, and he moans, leaning his cheek against her crown. She pauses, letting him taste her, planting a kiss on her lashes, the corner of her mouth, the tip of her ear, the place under her jaw where her pulse pushes against the skin. Every contact point sends a shiver running through her body.

She's aflame, and the link between them is alive, free and flowing with the traffic of their thoughts. She can sense the desire in him, the want. The emotion breaks over her like a wave, leaving her breathless and exhilarated. She reaches for his collar, fumbling with the buttons, and he stiffens, catching her elbow.

"Rey . . ." He says, and there's a silent plea written in his face. "Rey."

She pauses, giving him a quizzical look. Her heart's racing, and her head is alive and buzzing with the liquor.

"Rey, I . . . I can't." He says, and his eyes fill with tears.

"What?" She asks, pulling away.

"I . . ."

**_Ben_ **

_don't want to hurt you._

She's so insistent, pure energy, and she captures his lip with her teeth and he groans, unable to stop the sound from tumbling out of his throat. His body awakens, beneath her. She kisses him like no other, taking and taking and taking, then giving, like a tide, drawing him out to see, pushing him back along the rocky shore, inviting and denying, setting his body trembling with anticipation, with desire . . . And she's so close, he can see every lash, every freckle. They share the same breath, and he finds it so hard to calm his frantically beating heart.

He flushes, embarrassed. He's never been with a woman. He doesn't really know what it's like. He's letting instinct, simple and primitive, guide him. He's trembling, and it takes everything in his power not to rip the clothes from her body, to let his hands explore every inch of her . . .

She shouldn't want this. She shouldn't want  _him_. He's a monster. He's dark, dangerous. And if they take this too far . . . He leaves a trail of death and destruction, in his wake. He only ever hurts the ones he loves. How can he promise himself he won't do the same, to her?

He can't bring himself to continue. He can't. Because he can't hurt her. If he hurts her, he'd never forgive himself.

And if they take the fall, if they cross this line, he's not sure what's waiting for him. Sharp rocks, at the bottom of the abyss, waiting to impale him, to rent his body apart . . .

It's hard for him to let himself love and be loved. He's been hurt by it, before. If he goes this way, if he surrenders himself to her, what will be left? Will she hurt him? Will she be kind?

She pulls away, sensing his hesitation, his fear. She pushes his hair away from his face.

"What is it?" She asks, brow furrowing. He searches her face, suddenly breathless, and it feels like there's some creature in his chest, clawing through the tissue and muscle and bone. It's pain like he's never experienced. He opens his mouth, and bursts into tears.

"I can't be what you want me to be." He gasps, voice trembling. "I'm a monster."

In his mind's eye, he sees her eyes, cold and flashing, like steel. She stood, knee-deep in the snow, wielding his grandfather's saber, and she called him a monster. He almost laughed, then. He couldn't deny it. He was (is) a monster. Something hated and feared. He'd killed, in cold blood. He doesn't know if he's even sorry.

And he knows, deep in his heart of hearts, that she'll leave him, because of it. She'll abandon him, like all the rest.

"Ben . . ." She says, helplessly, reaching for his hand. "I was wrong." Her voice trembles, and tears fill her eyes "I was wrong. You're not a monster."

"I am." He says, thickly, wiping his face. "I'm a monster. I'm a monster, and I don't want to hurt you."

Rey shakes her head, almost angrily.

"You could never hurt me, Ben." She says, fiercely. "You're not a monster. You're just lost, looking for a way home." She lifts his hand and presses it to her chest. He can feel her heartbeat, drumming against his palm. It feels like a promise. "And I will never hurt you." Her voice breaks, on his name.

"You can fight this. You haven't lost this battle. There's still good in you. I can see it as clearly as I see you. You're stronger than you know." He hangs onto her every word, hating how vulnerable he is, how much the words matter. She wraps her arms around him, hand cradling the back of his head. He presses his face into her abdomen, hands grabbing fistfuls of her shirt, grounding himself in her light, her scent—wild, desert flowers.

She pulls away, after a while. She touches his face, her thumb ghosting the line of his cheekbone.

"I want to help you, Ben," she whispers, "show me how."

He stares at her, lips trembling. He leans into her touch, closing his eyes.

"Stay." He says, voice breaking.

He pulls her into his arms, and this time he makes a noise, something between a whimper and a moan. It's better than a drug. Her closeness, her touch, the feel of her body molded against his, feels like nothing he's ever felt before. The hot, seething pain in his heart lessens. He lets himself drift. Her energy moves around them, gentle and soft and light, and he loses himself in her presence.

Energy pulses from the path her fingers make along his skin, and the hair along his neck and arms rise and bristle, at her touch. He presses her to his chest so tightly it's a wonder she doesn't become a part of him. He tangles his fingers in her hair, lips moving in silent pleas, asking her,  _begging_  her to never let him go.

"The light can be your home." She says, tracing his brow, his lips, mapping the constellations of freckles on his cheeks. "I can be your home."

Her lips ghost the slope of his cheekbone, his scar, but only briefly. She pushes him onto his back, so he's lying on the sofa, and settles herself, beside him. Her head finds the place on his chest where his heart hammers against his ribs, and his arm encircles her, instinctively. She takes his hand in her own, toying with his fingers, exploring the lines and scars and imperfections in his palms. She raises his hand to her lips, pressing chaste kisses on his fingertips, one by one. His body shivers, receptive to her touch.

He mulls over her words. He wishes it were true, wishes it was that easy. He can't see a path that doesn't begin and end with her. And she doesn't realize she  _is_ home, already. She's his shelter, in a storm. His anchor. His cornerstone.

The glow of the dying embers casts shadows on the walls, and the heat kiss their bodies. Outside, a light rain has begun to fall. He can hear it, drumming against the roof. He brushes a loose strand of hair away from her face, and keeps at it, running his fingers through her soft, dark tresses.

She watches him, eyes drooping, fingers entwining with his. Eventually, she closes her eyes. Her breathing evens out, and her thoughts quiet, in his head. He keeps combing his fingers through hair, drawing patterns over her knuckles, until the orange glow of the dying fire fades into darkness, and he drifts off.

**_Rey_ **

The better part of a week passes. Rey finishes repairs on the shuttle. Ben teaches her the ways of the Force, showing her abilities that border on the edge of the dark-side, things she couldn't have learned from Luke, nor the Jedi Texts. He teaches her the strategy to Mind-Tricking, shows her how to slip through mental barriers, to read object memories and pick apart thoughts. Each morning, they spar with sticks stripped from the trees surrounding the cabin, wielding them like lightsabers or staffs or swords.

They argue, incessantly, over trivial matters. Some days, she can't stand him. Some days, she craves his lips, his touch. It's a continual push and pull. He's a constantly shifting force, calm and patient one moment, unstable and furious the next. Just when she thinks she's finally pinned him down, he reveals a side of himself she's never seen.

During a sparring bout, he pushes her, invading her mind and senses, stretching her abilities. He swings his staff, and she sees the oncoming blow just in time to throw out a hand, blocking him. Lightning springs from her fingertips, striking the staff, and it snaps, charred by the electric current. She freezes, paling, staring at her hands.

Hesitantly, she meets his eyes, expecting him to make some snide comment. He only nods, approvingly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"I think that's enough, for today."

Ben doesn't mention Takodana or Tyrin Wain again. Rey grows restless.

Every day, she checks the shuttle's communication systems. She suspects Ben knows what she's doing, but he doesn't try to stop her. So she keeps at it, running system sweeps, listening to the bits of conversation she can snag on the the Resistance' frequented channels. She spends hours, curled in the pilot's seat, listening to the static and the fragments of messages and foreign voices. Countless times, she falls asleep there, and the voices weave their way through her dreams.

Nightmares frequent her sleep. She wakes, screaming, and Ben's arms are there, to comfort her. She knows it's taking a toll on him, too. He wakes from the same nightmares, though his screams are silent. Large, dark circles stain the skin under his eyes. The dreams are something they share, and it doesn't seem to be going away any time soon. After they carry on like that for a few days, she insists he just stay there and sleep with her, instead of bursting into the room in the dead of night. The bed is big enough for the both of them, anyway.

And she finds, though neither of them mentions it, that the nightmares are less, when he's there.

Rey's mind wanders to night they kissed. For real. For the first time. He's never been with anyone. He's so  _shy_ , so tender. It's something she didn't expect, especially from him.

The fire is there. She sees it in his eyes, as he steals glances at her when he thinks she isn't looking, when she comes out of a nightmare to feel his lips pressed against her own. During the heated moments during her training, when they're locked in the thick of the battle, and their bond is at its peak, alive with their energy. When he's near, when their hands brush during a meal, when he caresses her cheek . . . a rush of  _something_ , giddy and dizzying, overcomes her. And she wants to slap herself, because she feels like a silly girl with a crush and it's  _beyond_  irritating. But she can't help it. Something about him banishes her good sense, makes her carefully constructed fortress crumble to the ground. And she's helpless to stop it.

It's raining, and they're sitting at the worn, wooden table, eating the last of their rations. They've consumed the food sparingly, over the past week. But it's running out. Rey isn't too worried. There's plenty of animals in the woods.

Rey listens to the patter of the droplets against the leaky, wooden roof, enjoying the easy silence, between them. His thoughts move freely through the bond, as do hers, and she can't help but savor these quiet, comfortable moments. There's no danger, no resentment or anger or sorrow between them, only peace.

"What's a Gray Jedi?" She asks, breaking the silence. Luke mentioned something about it, but not in detail, and up until then, she'd never heard the term.

Ben looks up from his rations and looks at her, chewing thoughtfully.

"They're Force-Users, capable of both light and dark side abilities. But they're in-between. They're not fully devoted to either side." He says. Rey cocks an eyebrow.

Ben squints at her. "That's a text-book definition of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Especially considering your little stunt with the lightning. I've never seen a Jedi capable of that."

Rey stares at her plate, gut squirming with unease. She doesn't know where it came from, exactly. She was so caught up, in the battle, the bond. And he was inside her head, pushing her to a breaking point. It just . . .  _happened_.

"And what does that make  _you_ , Ben Solo?"

"Your dark-sider pet." He scoffs, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Rey laughs.

She mulls it over in her head. A Gray Jedi, capable of both light and dark side abilities. Devoted to neither the Jedi Order, nor the Sith. Maybe that's the way to bring balance, to the Force. Not with light, nor darkness. But something in between. Something new.

Ben gets to his feet and gathers their dirty plates, taking them to the sink. He turns the tap and begins to rinse them. Rey pauses, gazing at him, and resists the urge to laugh. She finds it . . .  _odd_. Because the infamous Kylo Ren is doing dishes at the sink, a sink in a kitchen in a cabin they share,  _together_. She joins him, at the sink, taking the sponge and some soap and running it under the cold water. His hand brushes against hers, and a memory floats across the bond.

Rey blinks, allowing herself to see through his eyes. He's young, watching Leia and Han as they stand at the sink, side by side, rinsing plates and silverware. It's a happy memory. Rare. Beautiful, in its simplicity. They're not arguing. They're . . . at peace, for once.

Rey allows herself a smile, as the memory fades. He reaches over and shuts off the tap, lifting his dampened hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Tell me it's going to be alright, in the end." She says, feeling a hard lump form, in her throat. She wishes there wasn't a war. No battles to fight, no worry of being caught by the First Order, of the Resistance' destruction.

She embraces him, hands slipping under his shirt, fingers tracing his skin. He presses his forehead against hers.

"I shouldn't make promises I can't keep." He says, softly. "But I'd pull the stars out of the sky and the planets from their orbits, to keep you safe. I'd give you the galaxy."

Rey frowns, shaking her head.

"I don't want the galaxy." She says.  _I just want you._

_Rey wanders through a thick fog. It clouds around her legs and brushes against her arms, thick and damp, clogging her vision and her lungs. The rocky cliffside is familiar.. She can hear the distant drone of the ocean, the waves breaking over rocks, alive, ebbing and flowing—so like the Force, itself._

_She's on Ahch-To_

_Voices whisper to her, carried on the wind, and she stops, straining her ears, to listen. She follows the sound, and it grows steadily louder. She breaks into a run, suddenly eager to get to wherever the voices are leading her. Suddenly, the ground is ripped from beneath her, and she stumbles, crashing into a pool of water. She splutters, inhaling a mouthful of saltwater. She kicks, furiously, and breaks the surface. She hikes herself up on a smooth, rocky alcove and climbs to her feet._

_She's standing at the mirror, gazing at herself. There's something wrong, though. He reflection is twisted and warped. Tentatively, the raises her hand, touching the mirror. Cracks begin to split the glass, spreading from the place where her fingers brush against the cool, smooth surface. She steps back as the glass shatters, completely, and falls away. A wall of water replaces the glass, rushing at her, breaking over her head like a wave. She thrashes, disoriented, reaching for breath._

_The water recedes, and she's not standing in the cave, she's lying across the bed, in one of the stone huts. Her vision is blurry, and there's people, around her. They're voices are distant and echoey, and she can't make out what they're saying. She moans, feeling something ripped from her body, something taken from her. There's a faint wail, and blood between her thighs, slick and warm. Her vision blacks out, completely, and slips into oblivion._

_She comes to, lying in a cold, stone cell. It's dark. She crawls on her hands and knees, disoriented, hands scrabbling over the stone, searching for a way out. She can hear the faint, desperate cries of a child, but the sound is far away. She tries to yell, to scream, but no sound comes._

Rey sits up, chest heaving, trying to make sense of where she is. Ben stirs, beside her, mumbling something she doesn't quite catch.

"It was a dream." She says, aloud, pressing her hands on her cheeks, trying to reassure herself of her own solidity. She's safe, in the cabin. It wasn't real. But then,  _what's that noise . . . ?_

She slips out of bed, straining her ears against the quiet and Ben's slow, even breaths. Yes, she still hears it. Faint, helpless.

A baby, crying.

Her mind reels.

The Force hums inside her, prompting her to follow the pitiful wails. She walks down the hall, pausing in the living room.

It's coming from outside. She pulls open the front door and steps outside. It's still raining, hard. She pulls her cowl tighter around herself, straining to listen over the pounding of the rain.

It's coming from the woods, past the shuttle. She can just make out the noise. She sets off at a brisk pace, ignoring the shiver that creeps up her spine.

The cries grow steadily louder, more desperate. Her chest aches, for whatever small life is in such distress. The Force guides her steps, as sure and strong as the voices on Ahch-To, when they led her to the Uneti Tree, to the Jedi Texts . . .

She pauses, at the treeline, gazing into the darkness.

The cries are loud, here. The sound seems to be coming from all directions, echoing, bouncing around her skull. She shifts her weight, head whipping from side to side as she tries to locate the source of the noise. But there's nothing there.

Something led her here, somehow.  _Why?_ She reaches inside herself for an answer, a sign.

A twig breaks. Rey spins around, reaching for her staff. It's a habit that's been worn into her, after so many years wielding one on Jakku. And old habits die hard. Of course, she doesn't have one. She's completely unarmed, unprotected. And alone, in the woods, in the dead of night.

_Great._

A figure steps out from behind a tree, a couple meters to her left. She steps back, watching the figure warily. It's a man, hooded and masked. He steps toward her, and she freezes, heart jumping in her throat.

"Get back." She growls, trying to sound a lot braver than she feels. The masked man chuckles, but the sound is humorless. Absently, she realizes the baby's cries have fallen silent. They weren't even real, to begin with. Just a figment of her imagination. An echo of her nightmare.

"So much  _spunk_." He says, and her blood runs cold. A memory tugs free, surfacing like an unwelcome relative at a family gathering. Snoke's eyes, pale and cold. His high, cruel laughter. His fingernails, tracing the line of her jaw. The tendrils of his mind, reaching out, ensnaring her, setting every nerve aflame with pain, the worst she'd ever experienced . . .

"Who are you?" She demands. She reaches for Ben, projecting her current situation into his mind, pleading for help. To her horror, she can't feel him. She's met with a solid, impenetrable wall where their bond should be.

"There will be a time for introductions later. For now, call me Ren."

_Ren . . ._

"Ren. You're a Knight of Ren." She says, fighting to keep her voice steady. She's trembling.

The man nods. "That's right."

"Remove your mask." She demands. "Only cowards hide behind masks."

Ren laughs.

"Are you here to kill me?" Rey asks. Mentally, she's battering at the wall blockading her from Ben's mind. She's growing more panicked and helpless by the second.

"And waste such promising potential? Hardly." He says, clicking his tongue. "I've come to rescue you."

Rey scoffs.

"Rescue me?"

"Yes." Ren says, nodding his head. He offers a hand. "Will you join me?"

Rey's breath snags in her throat. It's a terrible coincidence . . .

"That's a load of Bantha Fodder." She growls. "What do you want?"

He takes another step closer, grabbing her forearm. His nails pierce her skin.

Before he can go on, she wrenches her hand from his grasp and Force-pushes him backward. He strikes a tree trunk and grunts, kneeling over. The foliage rustles, and three more figures emerge from the shadows. Rey hears the telltale hiss of lightsabers igniting, and she's suddenly surrounded by four beams of brilliant red.

She backs up, mind reeling, quickly realizing her best option is to run, and fast. She turns on her heel and nearly collides with . . .

"Ben." She breathes, relief washing over her. He grabs her arm, stepping between her and the half-circle of dark warriors. The Knights of Ren spring forward, sabers raised above their head. Ben swings his own lightsaber up in a wide arc, and sparks fly as the blades collide.

The bond opens, and Ben's thoughts flood into her mind. She welcomes them, letting him guide her as she aides him in the fight. She doesn't have a lightsaber, but she has the Force, and for now, that's enough. They become one in the same, a single creature with two heads and two, bleeding, beating hearts.

She pushes a Knight backward, and he loses his balance. Ben seizes the opportunity, driving his blade through the man's chest, killing him. Two more knights spring at him, as a third confronts Rey, forcing her against a tree. Her attention is divided. One of the Knights spits insults at Ben, calling him a coward and a traitor.

"Kaz." Ben spits. "You, too?"

"You're a defector." Kaz spits. "Defectors are traitors, and traitors demand punishment by the sharpest blade. You know that."

His anger sparks, and it feeds into Rey's fire. Rage and adrenaline boil in her blood.

She wrestles with her attacker for a moment, pushing into his mind, learning his intention a moment before it happens. The Knight swings the lightsaber, aiming for a clean blow to the neck. She thrusts her palms out. A rush of energy flows through her, and Force-lightning jumps from her fingertips, setting his body aflame with electricity. He screams and falls to the ground, writhing as the lightning races over his body, burning his flesh. The stench of it stings Rey's nose and throat.

She coughs and scrambles backward. The Knight's body as it twitches, once, twice, and falls still. She straightens, gaze finding Ben in time to see him decapitate one of the Knights. Blood spills over the ground. And Rey's stomach churns, unpleasantly.

Rey whirls around, bracing herself for the next advance, but none comes. The fourth knight lies on the ground, unconscious, mask askew. A stream of blood trickles from his ear.

Ben turns, and his eyes lock on her. He deactivates his lightsaber and tucks it into his belt, stepping toward her.

"Are you injured?" He asks, eyes traveling the length of her body. She shakes her head, trying to steady herself.

"Let's go." He grabs her hand, starting toward the shuttle. Rey realizes he's limping. Badly.

"Ben, you're hurt." She says.

He shakes his head, tugging at her arm, insistently.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine."

"We need to leave. They're likely working for the First Order. If they are, Hux and his army won't be far behind." He says. He's trembling. Whether it's from the anger or the pain or the battle high (or all three), she doesn't know.

"Let me help you." She wraps an arm around his waist and guides his other arm over her shoulders, supporting his weight against her body.

"You're impossible." He says, not unkindly. He leans against her, and together, they hobble towards the shuttle.

Rey insists he lay down, in the bunk. He does, reluctantly, as she primes the hyperdrive and runs a few system checks. Rain pounds on the roof, above her head. Her heart beats in her throat, her fingertips, as she switches on the control panel and urges the shuttle into the air.

Rey throws a final glance out the window, at the darkened cabin, and punches the hyperdrive, watching the moon fade into a smear of color.


	8. Maz's Counsel

**_Ben_ **

Ben rolls up his pantleg to the knee, wincing as he inspects the wound. It's about four inches long, stretching across his calf. It's deep, and oozing blood. He digs through the medical kit, twisting the top off the container of bacta. He spreads it over his fingers and begins applying it to the wound. He stops, feeling eyes on him.

Rey stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She hesitates, a moment, and Ben gets the feeling she's trying to read him, to test his emotional waters. In answer, he scoots over on the bunk, making room for her.

Her relief is tangible. She crosses to his side and settles herself on the bunk. She gives him a tentative smile, taking the bacta from his hands. She begins to spread it across the gash, and he lets her, leaning back against the wall.

Rey's hair is damp with rain, falling out of the bun on the top of her head and sticking every which way. Her brows are furrowed, worriedly, as she tends to his wound. Part of her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth as she bites it.

Suddenly, he's angry. What was she  _doing_  out there, in the woods? She left him, without telling him where she was going. Unarmed, in the middle of the night. And that's not even the worst part. Something happened, to their bond. Something was blocking him from reaching her. When he called to her, there wasn't an answer. Only silence. Something was . . .  _off._

Ben shudders, imagining what could've happened if he'd been a second too late. If he hadn't the sense to go looking for her . . .

Rey's eye flit to his face, then drop to his wound.

"I know what you're thinking." She says, after a moment. Ben barks a humorless laugh.

"Oh?"

"You think I'm dull. You think I'm an idiot."

"You  _are_  dull." He snaps. Rey shoots him a look. Ben chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to rearrange his features into something . . . gentler. He's not angry with her. Just scared. Scared _of what could've been._

He thinks of the broken, battered phantom, in his nightmares. He sees her dark, vacant eyes. Feels her blood running over his fingers. Every time he closes his eyes.

And he's so afraid. Of losing her. Of needing her, the way he does.

This  _something_  they have, whatever it is, doesn't make sense. But then, nothing about her ever does.

"What were you doing in the woods, Rey?" He asks. She takes a breath.

"I had a dream. A vision, really. It felt real." She pauses. "Ben, there was a child."

"A child?" He asks, weakly, thoroughly confused. Rey nods.

"A baby." Rey pushes a hand through her hair. "It was crying, in my dream. When I woke up, I could hear it. And it was like . . . like the Force told me to find it, to help it. I followed the cries, and it led me to the woods. To that clearing." She looks at him. "And your Knights were there, waiting."

Ben groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It was a trap, Rey. He put that vision in your head. The Knights operate under thd dark side of the Force. They can manipulate you, turn your mind. He drew you straight into a trap." Ben sighs, staring at his hands. "He wanted to get to me. He used you as bait."

"Why? Who are they working for? The First Order?" Rey asks, brows knit.

As far as Ben knows, the Knights were loyal to him. Their allegiance must've shifted when he'd abandoned the First Order in favor of a Jedi. His knights are dangerous, and powerful.

Ben's heart sinks. His Knights knew him, respected him. Ben could've called them friends.

They're devoted to the dark side of the Force, and they stood behind Ben when they believed he'd bring them power. Of course, they turned on him the moment he traded his throne for the light side's messiah.

The betrayal leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. Another alliance, severed. Ben frowns, chest aching with the familiar sting of abandonment.

He sighs, heavily.

"It's likely they're working for the First Order. Or they've chosen a new master. They're devoted to the dark side. They'll follow whoever keeps them in power." Ben frowns. "I'm a threat, now. No doubt they'd like to wash their hands of me, for good."

Rey caps the container of bacta, setting it aside. She wipes her hands and reaches for him, lacing her fingers with his. She gazes at him, sadly. Her mind brushes against his, and her presence grounds him. She's there, like a crutch, lifting some of the weight from his shoulders. He sighs, feeling some of the pressure melt away. The bond is open, between them, and she follows the trail of his thoughts.

"You've got me." She says, quietly. "I'm not leaving you."

Ben puts an arm around her, and she rests her head against his shoulder. He'll never admit, not in a thousand lifetimes, how much he needed to hear those words.

"I almost lost you." He says, quietly. "It's too easy for enemies to get into your head and take what they want. It could destroy you, Rey."

Rey nods.

"I know."

The ship shudders as they drop out of Hyperspace.

Rey starts and gets to her feet.

"We're here

"Where?" He asks, suspiciously. She doesn't answer, only gives his shoulder a light squeeze and leaves the compartment. He grumbles, still unused to being ignored so nonchalantly. He limps after her.

He finds her in the cockpit, stooping over the console. A small, green planet looms ahead of them.

"What's that?" He asks.

Rey doesn't look up as she taps a couple commands into the control panel and picks up the transceiver.

"Takodana."

**_Rey_ **

"You want me to . . . what?" Ben asks.

"Put this on. Your cape is too conspicuous." Rey says, holding up a uniform. It's simple, made of supple, gray fabric. It's probably some technician's garb, largely unmarked. She found a few extras stashed in a closet in the back of the shuttle. Ben gives a her a look of mock-horror. She snorts, biting back a laugh. "Actually,  _everything_ about you is too conspicuous. Maybe you should stay on the shuttle."

"Oh, and play lookout while you go parading around Takodana? Not happening." Ben snaps. Rey rolls her eyes, tired of his bullheadedness.

"C'mon, Ben. Please? It's only for a little while, until I find Maz. She'll help us."

"Really? Most people either want to shoot me on sight or run for the hills. I know Maz. She's a family friend. She'll reach for a blaster the moment I show my face." Ben says.

"I think you'll be surprised." Rey says, though her gut squirms, uneasily. She tries to conceal her apprehension and fails, miserably. Ben scoffs.

"Fine. I'll stay in the shuttle."

"Good."

"I've got a  _really_  bad feeling about this."

Rey shoots him a look, over her shoulder, and picks up a second, smaller uniform. She makes her way to the refresher to change, leaving Ben to pace the length of the cockpit, grumbling to himself. Rey slips out of her dirty, bloodstained clothes and kicks them aside, pulling on the stiff, new uniform. It's sleek and black and too large. The sleeves are far too long, and the hem reaches to her mid-thigh.

Rey returns to the cockpit. Ben gazes at her, sizing her up. She curtseys a little, and spins in a circle. Ben laughs, grabbing her shoulders, turning her this way and that.

"You'd make a fine commanding officer." He says, and light dances in his eyes. Rey flushes, smacking his hand away.

"The day I become a First Order officer is the day you become a radar technician." She says, and laughs. Ben smiles.

Rey's smile fades. She pinches the bridge of her nose, gazing at Takodana's surface. The world looms, ever closer. Rey wrings her hands, trying to dispel some of the nerves.

This is risky. Too risky. It's a stupid idea, really. But where else is there to go? Plus, she needs a lightsaber. She feels wrong, naked, without one.

"Let's go over the plan." She says, taking a breath. Ben rolls his eyes. "We'll land the shuttle near the castle. I'll pretend to be a First Order officer, here on a classified mission. Anyone who dares question me is risks annihilation by the First Order, put nicely. That'll shut 'em up. And I'll go straight to Maz. She'll know what to do, and she'll know where to find Tyrin Wain." Rey says, a little breathless, tapping an irregular beat on the back of the chair with her knuckles.

"It's fool-proof." Ben drawls, giving her a half-smile.

"Ben, this is serious. If we get caught . . ." Ben catches her elbow, cutting her off.

"I  _know_ , which is why I think it's a bad idea."

"I need a lightsaber. You said it, yourself." Rey counters. Ben sighs.

"I did."

"It'll be okay." Rey says, more to reassure herself than anything. "I hope."

Rey lands the shuttle, expertly, in a launch port just a mile from Maz Kanata's castle. She shuts off the shuttle's engine, looking at Ben. He reaches toward his belt and removes his lightsaber. He holds it out to her. Rey hesitates, shifting her weight.

"Take it." He insists. "You'll need it."

"Ben . . ." Rey says, gazing at the saber's hilt.

"Take it." He says, and a note of desperation bleeds into his voice. "Please."

She takes it. The hilt seems alive, in her hands. It's familiar, like it contains a piece of him. She tucks it in her belt.

"See you soon?" She offers, weakly. Ben nods, forcing a smile.

"See you soon."

**_Ben_ **

He watches her go, unease and worry gripping his gut like a vice. She's got a bounty of eight-hundred-thousand credits on her head. She helped him kill Snoke. She's the Last Jedi. If she gets caught . . .

He shivers.

No one boards the shuttle. He hides in the back compartment, stretched out on the bunk, resting his leg, which has begun to throb, painfully. It feels like there's second heart in his calf. His skin tingles, faintly, where the bacta gel begins to work its wonders, accelerating the healing process.

 _Not fast enough,_ he thinks, and closes his eyes.

He wracks his brains, trying to call up a memory of Maz, from his youth. She's a family friend, of sorts. Han trusted her, and apparently, so does Rey. She's a Resistance ally, a friend of smugglers and criminals, alike.

Ben highly doubts she'll accept with open arms, after everything. She may have known him as a child, but she doesn't any longer. Now, she only knows the monster in the mask. And he won't be surprised if she sends them right back the way they came, if they're lucky. She'll probably give them up to the First Order, or else kill him, herself. She's queer, and a tough nut to crack.

He sighs, pushing Maz from his mind. It doesn't do him any good to speculate, to worry himself over something that's largely out of his control, now. He settles against the wall, opting to mediate for a while.

Ben closes his eyes, focusing on the movement of air in and out of his nostrils, tickling the skin on his upper lip. He relaxes his muscles, letting himself sink into the mindscape.

Rey's there, a bright star in his solar system. It's miraculous, really, how quickly and easily he's drawn to her light. He catches fragments of thought, a glimpse of the world through her eyes.

She's following two people he doesn't know. Travelers, by the looks of them. Their clothes are worn, their arms loaded down with bags that bang against their legs as they walk. They don't look like any sort of threat. Rey's back is rigid, and her hand rests on the hilt of the saber, in her belt.

Some of the pressure lifts from Ben's chest, and he thanks the stars above that he had enough sense to give it to her. She needs it more than he does. At least she can protect herself, now.

He lets her be, returning to his own thoughts, glad she's not captive or dead or mortally injured.

After a while, he dozes off.

**_Rey_ **

Rey steps out of the shuttle, glancing around. There's a few workers milling around, directing the traffic in and out of the port. They pause, glaring at the shuttle and her shiny, black uniform. She adjusts her cowl, pulling it up over her nose and mouth to conceal her face. Most of the people milling around the port refuse to look at her, keeping their heads down, minding their business. Rey takes a breath, drawing herself up to her full height, glancing around. Two men are arguing, a few yards to her right. She approaches them, clearing her throat loudly. They fall silent, facing her.

"Direct me to Maz Kanata's castle." She commands.

Excuse me?" The shorter man spits, angrily.

"The First Order doesn't tolerate criminals and black-market smugglers, like yourself. Direct me to the castle, and I'll exempt you from punishment ." She's aware how foolish she sounds, prays the men don't see right through her.

The other man jerks his head, sharply.

"I apologize." He says, nervously. "He's got a temper."

Rey sniffs, folding her arms.

The pair introduce themselves as Ry'o and Macyn, from the Western Reaches. Macyn, a tall, wary man with dark, freckled skin and a threadbare tunic, extends his hand. Rey ignores the gesture.

Macyn smiles, looking strained. For the first time, Rey notices a small, silver locket hanging from his neck. He runs his finger over the surface, absently.

"It's not far." He says, gesturing north. "Please, follow me."

He starts off at a brisk pace, away from the port and down a narrow road through the woods.

The air is warmer, thicker. She's used to the heat, but the humidity kills. After a quarter mile, Rey's uniform is clinging to her body. Sweat runs down her forehead and neck. There's no breeze, and the sun beats at her back.

After a small eternity, Rey catches sight of the castle, looming in the distance. The entire east side was destroyed in the battle against the First Order, just few short weeks ago, but reconstruction is underway.

"Here. The Pirate Queen's castle." Macyn says.

She nods, curtly, and leaves the travelers, making her way up the steps to the castle. She pauses, taking in the surrounding area. The calm, shimmering surface of the lake reflects the bright sun. She squints, turning her attention to the entrance of the castle. She hesitates a moment, then pulls he door open.

It's busy. A band plays along the far wall, plucking at stringed instruments. Rey pauses, in the doorway, taking it in. The interior of that bar is all relatively new, since the old one was destroyed by the First Order's TIEs, but it's a similar ambiance.

Many conversations in the vicinity fall silent, as people shift in their seats. Rey straightens, squaring her shoulders, and marches into the castle, keeping her hand clasped tight around Ben's lightsaber. Many of the castle's occupants give her a wide berth. The atmosphere, once loud and carefree, is tense. The First Order isn't welcome, here. Rey's beginning to second-guess her choice to don this uniform. She should've stayed in usual garb. She would've blended in, well. But Ben . . . Ben with his imposing black cape and doublet . . . that's a different story.

She glances around, looking for Maz, trying to ignore the many pairs of eyes currently burning holes in her back.

She spots the short, bespectacled woman in the corner, engaged in merry conversation with a pair of young smugglers. As Rey's eyes find her, Maz turns, as if scenting something on the wind. Her gaze finds Rey, and a flicker of recognition, even relief, crosses her face.

"I'll see you around, boys." She says, with a laugh, and extracts herself from the conversation. She gestures for Rey to follow, and stalks off in the direction of the vaults, where Rey discovered Luke's lightsaber. She shivers, at the memory.

Rey follows Maz down the steep, stone stairwell and into a smaller chamber to the left. Rey stops, panting.

"Maz." Rey breathes. She removes her cowl, approaching the woman. Maz reaches out and takes both of Rey's hands in her own.

"Rey, I knew we'd see each other again." She says, smiling. "You've accepted the path the Force has chosen for you." It's not a question.

"I found Luke." Rey says. "He's dead. He gave his life for the Resistance."

"I know. I felt it. It's a great loss." Maz says. "His efforts were not wasted, Rey. You're proof of that."

Rey flushes.

"He refused the lightsaber. He wanted the Jedi Order to end."

Maz huffs, shaking her head.

"His heart's in the right place, but his head . . ." Maz chuckles. "As long as hope lives in the galaxy, the light lives, the Jedi live. One crotchety old fool can't change that."

Rey blinks, stunned. Maz smiles.

"There's hope in you, yet. The Jedi Order lives."

_I can't be a Jedi._

_There's darkness, inside me._

_I've no place, following Luke._

_I've no place, following Ben._

All these thoughts reel through Rey's head. She looks at Maz, and tears fill her eyes. Maz squeezes her hand.

"You're doubting yourself. Don't." Maz says, and frowns. "The answers will come, in time. You'll see."

"Have you heard from the Resistance? The First Order attacked our base, and I . . . I lost contact. I haven't gotten word of them."

Maz frowns.

"No. I haven't." She says. Rey sighs, gut wrenching with renewed panic. Maz peers at her, lost in thought. "I'll spread the word. I know people, here, friends of the Resistance. They can help you."

"Thank you." Rey breathes. She stares at her feet, mind reeling. She recalls their first meeting, Maz had told her . . .

"You told me the belonging I seek is ahead." Rey says, quietly. "But I'm torn, two ways. Maz, I need your help."

Maz straightens, dropping Rey's hand.

"Han's boy. He's certainly done his best to turn you." She grins. "You've changed. Something is shifting, inside you. A fiery passion. A budding darkness, perhaps . . ." Rey pales, dread settling in the pit of her stomach.

"You brought him, yes? I'd like to see him."

Rey blinks, dumfounded.

"How'd you know?"

Maz adjusts her goggles, winking.

"The Force works in mysterious ways, my child."

**_Ben_ **

Ben wakes, jerked from his slumber to the sound of squealing metal. He sits up, disoriented, listening to the telltale hiss of changing air pressure as the ramp descends. He jumps to his feet, reaching for his lightsaber, and realizes it's gone. He panics, for a moment, then remembers. Rey's got it. He folds himself against the wall, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound of his breathing. He waits, watching through the crack in the door for a sign of an intruder, an enemy.

"Ben?" Rey calls, cautiously. He sighs, relieved, and limps into the main hold. Rey smiles.

"Maz agreed to help us." She says. Ben cocks an eyebrow.

"And . . .?" He asks. "Where's the firing squad?"

"She knew you were with me." Rey says, searching his face. "She wants to see you."

Ben huffs, rolling his eyes.

"Crazy woman . . ."

"And she offered us a place to stay. A  _safe_  pace."

Rey grabs the discarded gray uniform and shoves it into his hands.

"Get dressed."

Ben does as he's told, grumbling. The uniform is made for someone shorter and stouter than he is. It's tight in some places, baggy in others. He emerges from the compartment, trying to ignore the heat in his face. Rey smiles, stepping towards him. She reaches up, smoothing the wrinkles from his collar. Ben shifts his weight, trying to keep what's left of his pride. Rey steps back, nodding in approval.

"That'll do."

As they near the castle, the full realization hits Ben. He does  _not_ want to face Maz Kanata. Maz, the Pirate Queen. Maz, the rebel. Maz, a friend of Han.

Rey seems to sense this, because her grip on his hand tightens. She marches him up the steps and through the front doors. She leads him past a cluster of pirates, at the bar. He glances around, curiously. He recognizes a few of the patrons, from HoloNet broadcasts and propaganda.

Rey ducks her head, moving quickly, trying to be inconspicuous. He imitates her, and it works. At least, he thinks it does. The music's loud, and everyone is too preoccupied with what's in their drink or on their plate to pay them any attention.

She leads him down a flight of stone steps and down a long, narrow corridor. She pushes open a door on the left side, and it opens into a large, circular room. The walls are stone, and there's no windows. Heaps of junk and various treasures are stashed in one corner. Along the far wall, there's a large, four-poster bed. It's stripped bare, and without pillows, but it looks comfortable enough. Better than the floor, or the bunks on the shuttle, anyway.

Maz smiles, mysteriously. "There isn't an extra bunk, available. I suppose you'll have to share."

Ben glances at Rey, quirking an eyebrow. Her cheeks redden.

"I apologize for the trinkets. Arran'll move them, come the morning. I'm afraid this room hasn't been used in a long while. Pardon the dust."

Ben turns. Maz Kanata stands in the doorway, glaring at him through her thick, bulbous goggles. She folds her arms over her chest, mouth forming a tight line.

"Ben Solo." She says, and Ben winces. "I knew the light side wasn't done with you." She adjusts her goggles, and her eyes seem to enlarge. She stares into his face.

"Curious . . ." She murmurs, to herself.

"I've nothing to say to you." Ben's lip curls, and he clenches his fists. It's all too painful. Rey touches his shoulder, gently, but he shrugs her hand away.

"I've plenty to say to you, but I'll avoid the touchy subjects. For your sake, and mine." Maz says. She turns to Rey, eyes flicking between the two of them.

"Will you join me for a meal?"

**_Rey_ **

Rey runs a bath, stripping off the First Order uniform, submerging herself in the warm water. She uses a sponge to scrub the dirt from her skin and hair. When she emerges, she finds a stack of folded clothes outside the refresher. She dresses, quickly, and replaces Ben's lightsaber in her belt, and goes to find him.

He's sitting at the foot of the bed. He'd traded the technician's uniform for his usual black pants and vest, though he forewent the cape.

He stands and crosses the room, wordlessly, pushing his fingers through her hair. She welcomes the simple, gentle touch. She opens herself to him, and his presence flows freely across the bond, enveloping her. For a moment, there's no war. There's no struggle, between the light and the dark. It's just them.

They join Maz in a private dining hall on an upper level of the castle. The table is small and circular and well-worn. Rey scrapes her fingernail along the grain of the wood, reading the memories shared at this table. Many meals, many glasses of wine. A few kisses, a few betrayals.

"Why did you come?" Maz asks, after a while.

"I came for a kyber crystal." Rey says. "I need a lightsaber. Luke's broke."

Maz nods.

"You'll find a few, on the black market. It won't be difficult."

Maz peers at Ben over her glass of wine. She's got a distant look about her, and Rey knows she's trying to read him, trying to gauge which lines shouldn't be crossed. Ben doesn't look at her. He glowers at his plate, moodily stabbing at his potatoes with a fork.

"Ben Solo." She says, again, tasting the words. "You've changed, since I last saw you, years ago. You've done a bit of growing up. When you've lived as long as I have, time passes quickly. Only yesterday, I could look you in the eye."

"I've no patience for an old toad's reminiscing." He spits.

"Last I saw you, you were clinging to Han's leg. You were a shy little sprite, all wide-eyes and taut smiles. You were curious, and so afraid . . ." Maz pauses, gazing at him. Her eyes are tinged with sorrow. "You're still afraid."

"I'm not afraid." Ben snaps.

"You are. You know the path you're meant to lead, and you're afraid to take the first step. Your destiny doesn't lie with the dark side. The light's waiting for you, Ben Solo. It's always been there."

"Destiny?" Ben laughs, harshly. "There's no such thing, old fool. There's only us, and the choices we make." Ben says.

Who is he kidding? Even in his youth, he felt tied to something. Some invisible string, binding him to Vader, to Snoke, and now, to Rey.

"I'm not so sure." Maz says, coolly.

"I'm finished with the light side. I've made my choices. I regret nothing."

"If, what you say is true, why are sitting here, now?"

She doesn't wait for an answer, and begins to shovel potatoes into her mouth, smacking her lips. Rey watches Ben, closely, waiting for him to flip a switch. To explode and obliterate everything in his wake.

"You don't know anything about me." Ben says, quietly. He's looking at Maz with a strange light in his eyes. He's a brewing storm of swirling emotions. Rey tries to reach out to him, to soothe the chaos, but he pushes her out, barricading her from his mind.

"Ben . . ." Rey starts. He jerks his chin, silencing her.

"There's still hope for you, yet. You can't accept it, maybe, but it's true. There's no forgiving what you did. But nothing's ever set in stone." Maz says, calmly.

Ben jumps to his feet, knocking over his chair. He leans across the table, lip curling, glowering at Maz.

"I didn't ask for a shrink." He scoffs. "You don't know me. You don't know what I've seen. You don't know what I've done!" His voice rises with each word, until he's screaming at her, spit flying from his lips. He draws a breath, chest heaving, hands curling into fists at his sides.

"I know more about you than you think."

"You don't!" He screams, slamming his fist on the table. His hand twitches, toward his hip, and Rey knows it's an involuntary reach for the one thing he allows himself to rely on. His first line of defense. His saber. But he doesn't have it. It's still in Rey's belt, a warm, steady weight against her thigh. Ben realizes this, too. His face flushes, and his hand drops, defeated, to his side. He straightens, turns on his heel, and flees the room.

"Ben!" Rey calls. "Ben, come back!"

The door slams, behind him. He's gone.

Rey stares after him, horrified, eyes filling with helpless, angry tears. She wipes her eyes, furiously.

Maz clicks her tongue, unfazed, and reaches across the table to right a glass of wine that tipped over in Ben's fit.

"I'm sorry." Rey says, breathily. "He's a bit . . ." She falls silent, at loss for words.

Maz shakes her head.

"Don't apologize. He'll come around. You'll see." She sighs. "In all my years, and there have been many of them, I've never encountered anyone quite like him. He's Han's boy, no doubt. But he's . . . different. There's darkness in him, but so much light, too. And it's destroying him."

Rey sighs, letting her head fall into her hands.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do."

Maz clicks her tongue.

"All you can do is try. Trust the Force, and the rest . . . the rest will come in time." Maz pours herself another glass of wine and sips from it. "What does your heart tell you?"

Rey looks at her, worrying her lip.

"I can't abandon the rebellion. But he'll never join the Resistance." Rey says.

"The Force keeps pushing us together. I tried to run from it. I tried to shut him out, but . . . We're supposed to be together." Rey trails off, shaking her head. She wipes her nose on her sleeve. "I don't know."

"Child, you're young. You'll know, in time." Maz blinks, face softening. She reaches across the table and clasps Rey's hand. "He's not lost to the darkness. That much is plain. And if anyone's going to bring that boy back to the light, it's you."


	9. The Crystal

**_Rey_ **

Ben's nowhere in sight when Rey leaves the dining hall and returns to their shared guest chamber. She checks the bathroom, and the other vaults in the near vicinity. When she can't find him, panic rises in her throat like bile. Her mind reels.

Had he abandoned her? Taken the shuttle and flown off? She swallows the familiar lump in her throat, clenching her fists.

 _Don't be stupid_ , she tells herself.  _He wouldn't._

Would he?

And it crosses her mind that she'll carry this fear her whole life. This constant worry that the people she loves are going to up and leave, cast her away like she's a piece of space trash. Unwanted. Unneeded. Unloved.

Rey stalks the hallways and climbs another flight of stairs, all the while reaching across the bond, calling his name. There's no response, only a faint, pulsing warmth. He's quiet, but there, and it's enough. Intuition (and the bond) leads her straight to him.

He's standing on a balcony on the third level of the castle, leaning over the rail, gazing at the sleepy city below. Well, not really a  _city_. A trading post, of sorts, bigger than Nima, on Jakku. Not unlike the market on Neira. It's lit by lanterns. A few people mill about, but not many. Darkness has fallen over Takodana, but the ground and surrounding forest is painted in ghostly, white light by two, bright moons.

Rey gazes at his outline, silhouetted by the stars and lanternlight, below.

"Enjoying yourself?" He asks, hollowly. He doesn't face her.

"Ben . . ." She pleads, crossing the balcony to stand by his side.

" _Rey_." He retorts, mockingly.

"You could be kinder to her, you know. She's doing us a favor. She's risking a lot to give us refuge." Rey says, defensive.

"A terrible idea." He says, dryly.

" _Ben_."

"You're still going back to the Resistance." He says, quietly. Rey blinks, taken aback by the course of the conversation, his tone. He's almost . . . hollow. Empty.

"Yes." She says, not looking at him. "I have to, Ben."

"Then what?" He snaps, and a flash of anger rips through the bond, tearing a ragged hole in Rey's chest. She jumps, forcing herself to meet his eyes. He goes on.

"Then what? We pretend none of this every happened? Like there's nothing between us?" He searches her face. The anger doesn't reach his eyes. They're deep, dark pools of sorrow, defeat.

There's something in his eyes, almost childlike. Filled with hurt and mistrust, like she'd given him a shiny new toy, only to snatch it away from him again. But there's something eerily . . . old, there, too. His are the eyes of a person who's seen so much loss, already. A person whose heart's been broken, before. One too many times. A person who's been abandoned, chewed up and spit out, and used up.

"The Resistance is doomed." He says.

"I can't abandon my friends." Rey says, quietly. She feels like she's being sucked into a storm, a black hole. The wind is battering against her body. She can't tear her gaze away from his face. He's pulling her to him like a magnet, like a star, and she's powerless.

On Jakku, Rey got caught in a dust storm. She was coming back from the Graveyard when it hit, almost without warning. She was twelve years old. The sand clogged the air. It got in her eyes and her throat. It blinded and suffocated her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't call for help. She couldn't do anything but crawl, aimlessly, praying she'd come across shelter, eventually. She feels like that, now. Blind and suffocating. And Ben's the storm, battering her body, ripping and biting at her skin, pulling her into the unknown, and she's helpless to stop it.

"Your friends are dead." Ben growls.

"You don't know that."

"I do!" He screams, glowering at her. "Why do you think you haven't heard from them? You think I don't know exactly what you do, in the middle of the night, when you think I'm not paying attention—I knew you were searching the channels, looking for a sign. Rey, I  _knew._ I  _know_ you." He pauses, nostrils flaring, blowing out a breath. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper.

"None came. There's nothing for you to go back to."

Rey stiffens, holding her arms tight against her sides, forcing herself to hold his gaze. Anger pulses in her veins, only amplified by his energy, pouring into her.

"Your friends are dead. I know it. And I think you know it, too."

"You're wrong." Rey says, quietly.

Ben turns, making his way across the threshold, jostling her shoulder as he pushes past her.

Rey turns on her heel.

"Ben, stop! You don't get to storm out the door every time something doesn't go your way." Rey spits. "Maz is right. You're afraid. You know what you have to do."

Ben pauses, resenting having his words thrown back it him. Rey presses on, and the words tumble out of her mouth in a hurry.

"It's your turn. Let go, Ben." She says. "Stop running from the past. Stop running from this. Stop running from  _me_."

Ben stiffens. He turns on his heel, rounding on her, eyes flashing. Time seems to speed up, and the fight-or-flight part of Rey's brain comes awake, like a flipped switch.

Rey reaches for his lightsaber and ignites it. The blade sings, crackling, throwing a red glare across his face. She holds it in front of her, pointing the tip at his chest. Ben freezes. His eyes widen, and a look of disbelief, betrayal, crosses his face.

His lip curls, menacingly. He straightens, and his face becomes a passive mask. He regards her, evenly. She looks at him, heart dropping through the floor. Tears spring in her eyes. She flicks the switch on the hilt, deactivating the saber.

Silence rushes in to fill the distance between them. The hand holding the hilt of the saber drops to her side. Ben smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes.

"I'll let go, Rey." He says, quietly. "If you do, too."

He leaves without another word. Rey looks at the lightsaber's hilt, in her hand, disgusted with herself. Her knees buckle, and she slumps to the ground, pressing her hands over her face, fingernails biting into her cheeks. The tears come, thick and fast. Sobs wrack her body. She draws her knees up to her chest and lets it all pour out. The empty hallway echoes with the sound of her helpless, gasping breaths.

Kriff.

_Kriff!_

She'd crossed a line. She tells herself, again and again, that she wouldn't have used it. She could never hurt him. Not in a billion years, across a billion universes. But she drew it. She pointed it at him. She turned his own weapon against him. A weapon  _he_ entrusted to her.

There's no going back, now.

She's good at fixing things. On Jakku, she fixed Unkar Plutt's broken speeder. He paid her a quarter of what she deserved, but she took the offer without objection. She fixed the  _Falcon_ 's hyperdrive when it malfunctioned, in their flight from the First Order's fighters. But she has no idea how to fix this.

When Rey's cried herself out, and the trembling has eased from her hands and her shoulders, she climbs to her feet, tucking the saber in her belt. She finds her way back to their guest chamber, wanting nothing more than to curl up under the blankets and sleep. She pushes open the door, expecting him to be gone, already on the shuttle and on his way off-world.

He's lying on the ground at the foot of the bed, head resting on his arm, breaths deep and even as he sleeps. He left her the bed. It's made, unoccupied and inviting. It just worsens the ache in her chest.

She makes her way across the room, taking care not to wake him. She removes the lightsaber from her belt and crawls under the blankets in her clothes, not bothering to change. On the ground, Ben's breaths pause, for a minute, as he turns over, then resumes. She sighs, staring at the stone ceiling and the shadows cast on the walls, from the oil lamp on the bedside table.

She turns over, burying her face in the pillow, face hot and sticky with drying tears. She tosses and turns, and falls into a fitful slumber, full of bloodstains and shadows and Ben's dark, sad eyes. And his arms, his lips, aren't there to comfort her.

**_Ben_ **

Ben wakes, sore and stiff from sleeping on the floor. He sits up and stretches, feeling multiple vertebrae in his back shift and pop. He stifles a yawn, glancing around the room. He heard Rey come, in the night. She's on the bed, tangled in the sheets, sleeping. There's a crease in her forehead, and her brows are pulled together in the middle. Her lips move, but no words escape her. He wonders if she's dreaming.

She's distant, after their fight last night. Normally, they're dreams are shared. She wakes up screaming, and he wakes up suffocating, and they're there for each other, until the sun rises and the daylight erases the shadows from their eyes and the screams from their lips.

He climbs to his feet, throwing a glance at her over his shoulder, and goes to the refresher. He peels off his clothes and steps into the shower. Lukewarm water cascades over his shoulders, soothing his muscles, erasing the scent of last night's wine and meal from his pores. He pushes his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes, letting his mind wrestle with their current predicament.

She's leaving. That much is clear. It's always been clear. He'd allowed himself to live with it, to deny it, to pretend that the war didn't exist, to live in the fantasyland they'd created, on Maia. But ever since they arrived on Takodana, and she'd spoken with Maz, it became impossible to deny it. Maz is allied with the Resistance. And being here is only strengthening Rey's desire to return. He can feel it. She's hopeful. It's an unwavering, undying flame, inside her, even after everything he'd said.

He doesn't know if they're alive or dead. He knows the extent of the First Order's power. If, by some miracle, the Resistance managed to escape . . .

He can't dwell on it. It's too painful. He can't lose her, can't leave her. And yet, he'd rather run himself through with his own lightsaber than join the Resistance.

Where would he go? He's no longer the master of the Knights. He's a criminal and a terrorist, to most planets from the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim. He can't return to the First Order. He can't join the Resistance.

He supposes, he could flee to a secluded world, somewhere he'd be safe. He could carve out a life in some smuggler's hole. He's powerful, and aligned with many dark-side factions. There are people, wealthy people, powerful Force-users, who'd follow him. He'd build a new order.

The more he mulls it over, the more ridiculous it seems, in his head. Because every scenario he imagines, every path before him, leads back to her. And it's hard to imagine a life without her.

He steps out of the shower and towels off.

Rey's awake, when he emerges from the refresher. She's sitting on the edge of the bed. She jumps, a little, when he enters the room. She freezes, like an animal facing a predatory beast, unsure whether to flee or fight.

She opens her mouth, closes it again, not meeting his eyes. Ben exhales, heavily, trying and failing to ignore the ache in his chest. The tension, the distance, between them, is painful.

"'Morning." He says, stiffly.

"Morning." Rey replies. He looks at her, reaching for words, something to end the silence that stretches between them. Her face, flushed and freckled and beautiful, swallows him up, and he flounders for a moment, caught in the riptides of her eyes.

There's a knock on the door. Ben starts, at the noise. Rey rushes to open it, and he peers over her shoulder. A stout, humanoid droid stands outside their door, carrying a tray

"I'm RT-4. Maz Katana sent me." The droid chirps. "I brought breakfast."

Ben settles on the floor and sets the tray between them. It contains glasses of juice and rolls and scrambled eggs. Rey sits opposite him, cross-legged, and reaches for a roll. She tears off a hunk with her teeth and chews, slowly. Her eyes remain fixed on the food, between them, but her eyes flick to his face, every so often. He tries to ignore her, but it's nearly impossible. She's distracting. Whenever she's near, the whole world seems to fade into the background. She's vibrant, a splash of color. She's the star, and he's caught in her orbit.

"How's your leg?" She asks, after a while.

"Better." Ben says. He'd forgotten it. He pulls up his pantleg. It's a thin, pink line, now.

"Good." Rey says. They lapse into tense silence, again. She shakes her head, setting her roll down on the tray.

"Listen, I . . . I don't want . . . I don't want this to go on." Rey asks. Ben cocks an eyebrow.

"Are you still going back to the Resistance?" He asks. Rey's shoulders slump, and she runs a nervous hand through her hair.

"Yes." She says. "I have to. "

"You don't."

Rey sighs.

"I do." She looks at him, helplessly. He folds his arms. When he doesn't respond, she goes on. "I'm going back, Ben. You can't stop me."

"They're using you, Rey. You're propaganda. Nothing more."

"I can't leave my friends."

"FN-2187? Dameron?" He spits.

"Finn." Rey snaps. "Yes. They're my friends. I can't abandon them."

Ben sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He can't stop his thoughts from wandering to FN-2187, Dameron, wondering if she's ever . . . gods, has she . . .  _been_  with them? He shudders.

"I'm going. With or without you." She says. "But you can join me, Ben. You can find your way to the light. There's hope, yet."

Ben rolls his eyes.

"I can't go on like this. I can't stand all this bickering. I need a kyber crystal. And you promised you'd teach me the ways of the Force. Can we . . . can we forget this? For now?" She takes his hand, holding him captive in her touch, in her light. "Please."

"Fine." He snaps, after a beat. "For now."

**_Rey_ **

RT-4 returns and clears away the remains of their breakfast. She (Rey recalls the conversation with Finn. _"Do droids even have gender identities?"_ He'd asked, incredulous. Rey thinks so. She can distinguish the gender by the way droids talk, though Finn remains convinced they don't. "I mean, they don't have any, you know,  _junk_." That set her off, laughing until her sides aches and tears ran down her cheeks. A big, deep belly-laugh) bids them a good day and rolls away, whistling a little tune.

"You need a kyber crystal. I'm convinced Tyrin Wain's got a few. We'll find him in the marketplace." Ben shrugs. "There's no point in waiting. We're here, after all."

"We'll have to be careful." Rey says, feeling her gut knotting, uneasily. Ben nods.

"I know."

Rey reaches in the folds of her cloak and draws the hilt of the lightsaber. She turns it over in her hands, then holds it out to him.

"You should take this." She says, quietly. Ben holds her gaze for a moment, then takes it from her hands. He tucks it in his belt. Rey bites her lip, feeling empty, and very much like she's lost a piece of him, somehow.

He looks at her, taking a breath.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Rey says, and shrugs. He makes toward the door.

"Ben?" She asks, breathless, feeling like her lungs are being forced into a tight, metal tube. He pauses, hand resting on the doorknob, and turns to look at her, brows knit with concern.

In her mind's eye, she sees the red glow of the lightsaber, throwing long shadows over his features, feels the crackle of energy, humming beneath her fingertips. But it's all wrong. She draws a shallow, shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry."

Rey clasps his hand, tightly. They make their way through the narrow pathways between the vendors in the marketplace. She's got her hood pulled up, over her head. She wrapped a shawl over his mouth and nose, too, so only her eyes peer out from the layers of fabric. Ben dons similar clothing. The marketplace is neutral territory for smugglers and traders and infamous pirates. At least half of them are dressed similarly, hooded and cloaked in various disguises. Rey and Ben blend right in. Thank the stars.

Rey's eyes flit around, taking in the various treasure sand artifacts. Vendors haggle over every little offer. Once, a fist fight breaks out, and Rey watches, horrified, as a particularly mean-looking Rodian breaks a man's nose with a single blow, and blood spatters across the dusty pavement. Rey takes a step forward, toward the fight. Ben pushes her along, roughly.

"Don't get involved." He hisses, under his breath. "This isn't the time, nor the place, for your valiant gallantry, Jedi." He says, half-teasing. Rey shoots him a look.

HoloNet projections wink from every corner. Ben freezes, brows knitting as the one-eyed redhead General Hux, appears onscreen, looking a little worse-for-wear but alive.

"Shit." Ben swears.

Onscreen, Hux offers a hefty bounty to anyone with information about Kylo Ren or the famed last Jedi. Their pictures flash across the screen. "These individuals present an imminent threat to the well-being of the galaxy" Hux warns.

"Impossible." Ben whispers. "I killed him."

"He's alive." Rey says, grimly. "And leading the First Order."

Ben sighs, heavily.

"C'mon, this way."

He leads her away from the hologram and down another aisle of vendors. A large, beefy man sells shrunken heads for thirty credits apiece. A wizened old woman with blue skin offers beautiful, jade pendants. A Twi'leki woman stands in the corner, holding a crumpled sign, advertising transportation to the Outer Rim.

First Order propaganda is everywhere. Apart from the holograms, posters cover the shops and stands. The text is printed in several different languages, and the words scream at Rey from all directions.  _Enlist now!_  and  _Join the First Order_  and  _Reclaim the Empire!_ That's not all, though. A sparse few Resistance posters have been pinned up, creating an odd mixture of propaganda. Poe Dameron's face grins down at her, accompanied by the words  _Join the Resistance, restore hope to the galaxy!_  scrawled in thick, red lettering.

Rey stares at the words, and it becomes a mantra in her head. She tears her eyes away, fixing her gaze on her feet, and follows Ben, blindly, as he leads her deeper into the marketplace. A hand closes around her wrist and she jumps, whirling around. A scarred, old man grins at her.

"Looking for work? They'd pay extra for a pretty lady like yourself, in the pleasure house." He says, silkily, and breaking into a wide grin. His lips pull back, revealing bare, toothless gums. Rey wrenches her hand away. Ben plants himself firmly between her and the man, glaring menacingly.

"Step away." He growls, voice low and dangerous. The man frowns, looking panicked, and holds out his hands in a submissive gesture.

"I'm not lookin' for trouble." He mutters, and shuffles away, eyeing Ben uneasily.

Rey bumps his arm.

"You didn't have to do that." She says.

"I did."

"No, you didn't. I can handle myself."

"Oh, like you handled yourself in the woods on Maia?" Ben says, and rolls his eyes. "I saved your life."

"My hero." Rey says, flatly. Ben snorts.

Ben rounds a corner and stops, grabbing her elbow.

"Tyrin Wain, there." He says, jerking his chin toward a vendor, a mere few yards away. He's short and stout, with a long nose and several chins, and a bald, sun-bitten head. His eyes are black and beady, like a rat's.

"Tyrin Wain." Ben says, as they approach. The man's head swivels, and his face splits into a smile.

"Why, 'ello. Watcha lookin' for? I've got trinkets and treasures. I've got jade and amethyst and pearls. I've got pendants, amulets, healing charms. A ring, for the lady, perhaps?" He pulls a dainty, silver ring from his pocket. "If the price is right . . ." He fixes Rey with a cold, beady stare. There's hunger, there. Greed,  _want._ The hairs on her arms and neck pick themselves up, and a shiver runs through her.

She doesn't like him. He's so like Unkar Plutt, like the dirty, gluttonous men on Jakku. The ones who fondled her hair and called her beautiful with that same, mad glint in their eyes. Like hungry dogs. They wolf-whistled and licked their ragged, chapped lips and begged for the pleasure of her company. She stiffens.

"Kyber." Ben says, meeting his gaze. "Word gets around, you've got kyber crystals. I need one."

Tryin Wain's gaze moves to Ben, and his face seems to shrivel up. He frowns.

"I haven't got Kyber crystals." He shifts his weight, uneasily. "But, please, consider a ring, some fine jewelry, perhaps . . ."

Ben steps closer, and the man swallows. Sweat breaks out over his forehead and upper lip. He draws away, avoiding Ben's gaze. He squirms, looking pained.

"What're you . . ." He looks at Ben, disbelieving. "Stop. Stop, at once!" He squeals, grimacing. Veins pop out along his neck.

"You can't hide from me, fool. You've got them." Ben released his grasp on the man's mind. He slumps, gasping for breath.

"You dare come here and play mind games with me? I'll ask you, politely, to leave. Now."

"You misunderstand." Ben says, coolly. "Show me the Kyber crystals, or you risk choking on your own tongue. It wouldn't be any skin off my nose. I'll have done the world a favor, ridding it of the likes of you, a filthy junk trader." Ben growls. "A gutter rat."

Tryin Wain pales, swallowing. He turns around and grabs a satchel, in the corner of the stand. He upends it on the tabletop, and several crystals tumble out. Rey gasps, gazing at them. They're beautiful, colorless, like opaque glass.

Ben glances at Rey, touching her shoulder.

"Go ahead." He says, nodding. "You'll know, when it's right. The crystal has as much of a choice as you do. Let the Force guide you. Jedi that choose an unfit match often suffer grievous consequences."

Rey nods, and closes her eyes. She taps into the Force, letting it run through her veins and envelop her mind and body. She opens them again, gazing at the crystals. They're all different shapes and sizes. She runs her hand over them. The Force hums, inside her.

She's drawn toward one of the larger ones. It's shiny, with jagged edges. She caresses it. It seems to sing, warm to the touch, and Rey's immediately sure this is the one. It's calling to her, whispering. Whispering like the Uneti tree on Ahch-To. Like Luke's saber and the mirror. She picks it up, letting rest in her palm. Its weight is heavy and comforting.

A reel of images flash through her mind. She sees the familiar shape of her parents' ship, taking off, from Jakku. She sees herself, a young girl, wearing Dosmit Raeh's cracked, too-big helmet. She sees her fingers, reaching out, touching Ben across the fire, in the hut. She feels the rain and ocean spray, on Ahch-To, sees Ben's reflection in the mirror, on Ahch-To.

The images change, and she's looking at the history of the crystal, itself. Mined from the heart of Illum, chiseled and sold, passed from hand to hand, in search of it's master, one half of a whole . . .

The sensations and images and fragments of voices fade away, and Rey comes back to her body, gasping, clutching the crystal in her fist. It begins to change color, its opaque surface blending into a range of hues, blue and green, even red. Rey watches, wide-eyed, as it dwells on that burning, bleeding color—the color she associates with Ben; heat and passion and desire—as if making up its mind.

Finally, it settles on a bright, vibrant gold.

Gold. She's never seen a gold lightsaber.

She looks at Ben. He's watching her with an odd expression, something like pride, or sorrow. She can't put a name to it. He shakes his head, clearing his throat.

"That'll cost you twenty-thousand credits." Tyrin Wain says, shortly. Rey stares at him, dumbfounded.

"We haven't got that kind of money!" She cries, horrified. She can't wrap her head around the sum. She's never even  _seen_  that much money in her entire span of years, let alone  _possessed_ it.

"Well,  _sweetheart_ , I'm afraid I'll have to take that back, then." He says, snatching the crystal from her hands. She mourns the loss as its warmth leaves her. Ben grabs Tyrin's wrist. He freezes, gazing up into Ben's cloaked face.

"You'll give us the crystal, free of charge." He says, coolly. Calmly. Tryin Wain blinks, looking befuddled, a little perplexed.

"I'll give you the crystal, free of charge." He echoes, and drops the crystal into Ben's outstretched palm.

"And you'll forget we came." Ben adds.

Tryin Wain nods.

"And I'll forget . . ." He trails off, mumbling to himself. Ben places the crystal in Rey's palm and closes her fingers over it, covering her hand with his own.

"Keep it safe." He says, and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go."

On their way back to the castle, Ben spots a collection of shiny, new blasters. He approaches the vendor, who promptly becomes cloudy-eyed and submissive, practically shoving a pair of blasters into Ben's arms. Free of charge, of course.

Wordlessly, Ben hands her a blaster. She shoots him a look.

"This feels . . . wrong." She says, turning the weapon over in her hands "I'm not a criminal. I'm not  _you_."

"I'm hardly a criminal." Ben says, tartly. "You didn't seem to have any objections when we took the crystal."

"That's different. We need it. And he's scum."

"We need the blasters, too. We need arms, to protect ourselves. Everyone here knows our names. We've got a  _five-hundred thousand_  credits on our heads, Rey." He says.

"You're right, I suppose." Rey sighs. She tucks the blaster in her belt, comforted by the weight of it against her thigh and the warmth of the crystal, in her pocket, as Ben takes her hand and leads her through the marketplace, back to Maz's castle.

**_Ben_ **

"Kriffing hell!" Rey swears, jamming her thumb into her mouth, sucking on it. Ben glances up, cocking an eyebrow. She smiles, sheepishly.

"I . . . I got burned." She mutters, returning her attention to her work. She's busy, trying to weld pieces of scrap metal into something resembling a quarter staff. He'd suggested she make a lightsaber to resemble one, since she's used to that style of fighting, already. She'd taken his advice. The current product isn't pretty, but it's getting there. They have limited access to materials. Luckily, Maz has vaults upon vaults of junk, trinkets and useless treasures she's collected, over the years.

Ben sits on the floor of their chamber, going through a dusty, old chest. Most of Maz's treasure is worthless, but some of the artifacts are of interest to him. Particularly, an old pendant, inscribed with ancient runes. It's got a strong Force-signature. He turns it over in his hands, rubbing his thumb across the surface. He tucks it into his pocket, making a mental note to find out its origin, later. He returns his attention to the chest, and lifts an old, heavy tome from the pile of junk. He opens it. The pages are crinkled and dusty, yellowed with age. The language is one he doesn't understand, nor recognize. He sets it aside, pawing through the box. He discovers an old radio, coated in dust. It's an ancient thing, probably made in the era of the old Empire. He turns the dials, absently, trying to figure out why Maz would have use for such a thing. But then again, most of this stuff isn't  _really_  treasure. She's just a hoarder.

Another string of curses escapes Rey's mouth, interrupting Ben's thoughts. He sighs, heavily, rolling his eyes.

"If it's bothering you that much, take a break." He says, tiredly. "For my sake,  _please_. Take a break."

Rey ignores him. She's sticking her tongue out in concentration, attacking the nascent interworking of the staff with a rusted pilex driver. The sight of her makes him want to laugh. He resists the urge, content to just watch her. There's a smudge of dirt on her cheek, another on the tip of her nose. He smiles, amused.

"I've almost got it . . ." She mutters, adjusting a piece. Ben gets up from the floor and crosses the room, settling himself beside her. He watches, intently, as she works, occasionally offering help. She's doing well. Better than he, when he built his saber. Of course, she's done this her whole life, salvaging old parts, handling scrap metal.

She bites her tongue, huffing in exasperation. Her fingers slip, and sparks shoot up from the tangle of wires in her hands. She hisses, drawing her hand away. He snatches the scraps from her hands.

"Hey!" She cries, trying to steal them back, brow furrowed in annoyance. He holds the scraps out of her reach and climbs to his feet. "Ben . . ."

He shakes his head.

"You need a break." He says, and offers her his hand. "C'mon. Let's take a walk."

She looks at him, incredulous, before getting to her feet, ignoring his hand. She marches past him and into the hall. She pauses, glancing at him, over her shoulder.

"Coming?"

He follows her through the hall and down a flight of stairs. They step out of the castle and into the evening light. The sky is tinged orange as the sun makes its descent. A warm breeze brushes across Ben's face, ruffling his hair. Rey slows, falling into step beside him. She takes his hand, wordlessly, forgetting her frustration. The Force hums, contentedly, within him.

Their feet follow the path, away from the marketplace. The sleepy sounds of animals in the woods surround them. Overhead, a ship drones on, and the sun's drying rays gleam on its hull.

They walk for a while, not talking, hands clasped.

Ben keeps close to Rey as they make their way down a path, in the forest. He reaches for her and clasps it, tightly, eyes darting to sweep their surroundings. There's no one here to bother them, though. The woods are deserted, almost peaceful. They walk along a faint trail of beaten foliage, coming upon the lake's bank. It's beautiful. The glassy surface of the water ripples slightly, in the breeze. It reflects the pale, blue sky, like molten silver.

Rey sits on a fallen, rotting log and lifts stones with the Force, skipping them across the river. Ben settles himself beside her and does the same. Their stones cross paths over the water and break the surface with twin splashes, sinking to the bottom. Ben watches the large ripples fanning out over the lake's surface, disturbing the reflections in the water.

The bond is open, and their thoughts pass back and forth, unguarded and effortless.

Ben sighs.

"What's next?" He asks, softly. Rey meets his eyes, worrying her lip. "We have what we came for. What happens now?"

"I don't know." Rey says. She falls silent. She gazes at him, warily, and he knows she's expecting him to explode. It's not like he hasn't done it before. But he's too tired, too content, to fly off the handle, now, anyway. He doesn't really want to think about it, regrets bringing it up. He looks at his feet, stirring the soil with the toe of his boot.

Of course, there's nothing to talk about. It's out in the open, now. She wants to go, he wants her to stay. And, if the Resistance is out there, somewhere. If she finds them . . . there's nothing that stands in her way.

She follows the trail of his thoughts, frowning, distant.

"Nothing's set in stone." She says, echoing Maz. Ben nods, solemnly.

She squeezes his hand, holding fast.

He cradles her cheek, presses a kiss to her forehead.

Maz won't be joining them for dinner. RT-4 brings a tray of food to their chamber, again. Rey takes the tray from the droid, bidding it a good night. Ben eats until he's pleasantly full and sleepy, and leans against the wall, watching Rey polish off a second steak. She wipes her mouth and pushes the tray aside, massaging her stomach.

"That's delicious." She says, smacking her lips.

"You eat like a Rancor." He comments, amused.

Rey smiles, rolling her eyes. She picks up the old radio. She holds it in her lap and fiddles with the dials, brows knitting.

"This thing's  _ancient_." She muses, picking at the loose wires. She picks up the pilex driver and pries off the casing, revealing the inner mechanics of it. After a while, the radio hums to life, clogged with static. Rey grins, widely, and turns the dials. Eventually, she finds a channel playing soft, bluesy music. The singer's voice is low, soulful.

Rey hums, contentedly, and gets to her feet. She holds out a hand, and he takes it. She pulls him to his feet. Still grasping his wrist, she begins to sway, closing her eyes, humming along to the tune. Ben watches her, unsure. She tugs on his hand.

"Dance with me, Ben." She says.

"I don't dance." He says, gruffly. She glares at him.

"You do, now. I'll show you."

She takes both his hands in her own and keeps swaying, moving her body, her hips. He mirrors her, careful not to trip over her feet. She laughs, softly, and he glares at her. She closes her mouth, firmly, eyes alight. She moves his hand, so it rests on her hip, and a shiver runs through his body. She's so close . . .

She keeps swaying, without really moving her feet, and he sways with her, moving to the tune. The static-tainted voice sings about a lost love, a wandering soul. Rey spins, slowly, raising her arm above her head. She wraps her arms around him, and she's so close he can see every freckle. She presses her lips to his mouth, warm and insistent. And they're kissing. It's a quick kiss, small and soft.

When she pulls away, his lips are aflame. She smiles, blushing. His arms tighten, around her, and she rests her on his shoulder. They continue to sway, and his body is alive, hyper-aware of her breathing, on his neck, the places where her hands are pressed against his lower back. He decides dancing isn't so bad, really . . .

And the song's over. Rey pulls away, smiling sheepishly.

"You're a good dancer." She says.

"You aren't bad, yourself."

She glances down, at their entwined hands. She gives her head a quick shake, seeming to remember herself. She drops his hand, crossing the room. She settles against the far wall, gathering up the makeshift parts of the lightsaber. He watches her, touching his lips, absently. On the radio, a new song replaces the static, and Rey hums along with it. He watches her, heart aching, as she turns the saber over in her hands and sticks her tongue between her teeth and reaches for the pilex driver.

**_Rey_ **

The third time Rey burns herself with the blowtorch, she sets the staff down, heaving a sigh. She sucks on her hand, trying to alleviate the sting. She's tired, and sloppy. Normally, padawans assemble their lightsabers with the Force, but they've got access to the parts. She's building everything from scratch.

It's the fourth time Rey's screwed up the modulation circuits, and she's losing her mind. She rubs her eyes, glancing around the room. Ben's in the refresher. All is quiet and undisturbed.

Rey gets to her feet and replaces the beginnings of her staff in a chest. She kicks off her boots and pulls her cloak over her head, climbing into bed in her undergarments. She sighs, tucking her arm under her head, staring at the wall.

Ben emerges from the refresher. Rey scoots over, making room for him. He hesitates, then peels off his cowl and slips under the sheets, beside her. She lies back, and he props up on one elbow, fingers tracing circles on her bare shoulder. His eyes search her face, but he's distant. Somewhere else.

"What're you thinking about?" Rey asks, quietly.

"A world without war. Without fire and blood." Ben pauses. His eyes swallow her, whole. "A world with you."

Rey caresses his cheek, pushes a hand through his hair.

"You've got me."

His arm encircles her, and her head finds his chest.

And the nightmares never come.

Rey wakes. She blinks, disoriented. She's still nestled next to Ben, and his arm is draped over her body, protectively. His fingers are entwined with hers, and their legs are tangled. She likes him, like this. Vulnerable and beautiful and close.

Nature calls her away from him, after a while. As much as she hates to leave the warmth and safety of his arms, her bladder's about to explode. She relieves herself, and, upon finishing, re-enters the room and picks up the jumbled parts of the lightsaber, inspecting them. She bites her lip, frustrated, and settles on the floor to fix her mistakes.

After a half an hour, she's rewired the modulation circuits and fixed the main power cell. Ben stirs. She can hear the sheets rustling as he emerges from slumber, slowly. Reluctantly. She doesn't look up.

"Rey?" He rasps, peering around the chamber.

"Mmmmm?" She hums, around the driver, clamped between her teeth.

Ben runs a hand through his hair, detangling himself from the blankets. He stifles a yawn with his hand, and she glances at him, smiling a little.

"G'morning." She says, brightly. Ben disappears into the refresher. When he emerges, he peers at her handiwork.

"I'm going out." He declares, after a while.

"What?" Rey asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'll be back, soon. Hopefully." He says, pulling open the door.

"Somebody could see you."

Ben rolls his eyes.

"I can take care of myself." He draws the hilt of his lightsaber, turns it over in his hands.

Rey sighs, trying to judge his intentions. She knows he's getting restless, stuck in this underground chamber all day. Maybe some fresh air would be good for him. Good for both of them, actually. She oughta go with him, make sure he doesn't kill anyone.

She glances at the unfinished lightsaber in her hands, and its call is too great. She wants to finish it. Badly.

"Be careful." She warns. The door clicks, behind him, and Rey's alone. She sighs, and returns to her work. She jumps at every noise, every creak and movement on the floor above. It's much too quiet, here, by herself.

She pulls the radio into her lap and fiddles with the dials, searching for a channel with some music. She finds one, and sets the radio atop the chest. The music drowns out the silence, and she loses herself in the task at hand. She barely registers the time passing, and only looks up from the lightsaber when Ben returns, arms laden with food.

"Hungry?"

On cue, her stomach grumbles. Loudly.

They settle on the floor, and Ben sets a plate of rolls and a bowl of fresh fruit on the ground between them. She takes a roll and tears into it, not talking, absorbed in the meal.

Ben looks at the beginnings of the lightsaber, currently only an indistinct hunk of metal.

"Almost finished?"

"Yeah. I've almost got the mechanics right. After that, it's just assembly."

Ben nods, approvingly.

"It's a rite of passage, assembling one's lightsaber by the Force."

Rey nods, staring at the saber, lost in thought.

Darkness has fallen by the time Rey perfects the lightsaber's separate parts. When she's finished, she pumps her fist in the air, shouting triumphantly. Ben, who's been dozing for the past few hours, sits up, mumbling indistinctly.

"What now?" He snaps, irritated.

"I got it! I did it!"

He rolls over, on his stomach, and peers at the pieces in her hands.

"Doesn't look like much, to me." He teases, cocking an eyebrow. Rey rolls her eyes.

"Shut up, and let me focus." She sets the parts on the ground and settles herself cross-legged, taking a deep breath. She closes her eyes, picturing the pieces in her mind, imagining the way they fit together. She pulls the crystal from her pocket, feeling its warmth, its music, emitting from it. It's weight is familiar and comforting in her palm. She opens her eyes, letting the Force and the crystal's energy guide her as she directs the pieces. They fit together, seamlessly. The crystal hums and crackles with electricity, glowing above the power cell.

Rey takes the weapon in her hands, marveling at her handiwork. It's not half-bad, modeled after her quarterstaff, double-bladed. She's so absorbed in her satisfaction, she doesn't notice Ben's drawn his own lightsaber until the blood-red blade sings by her ear, missing her face by inches.

She whirls around, shrieking in surprise, fingers reaching for the switch. She ignites the saber, and it sings to life, crackling, double-blades glowing like gold fire.

Ben's grinning, eyes alight. She jumps to her feet, thrusting the lightsaber towards him as he swings his weapon in an arc. The blades clash, and the bond flares with renewed energy. The contact binds them together, and sparks jump between them. Rey pivots, shivering with the newfound energy, allowing Ben's thoughts to filter through her mind and anchor themselves there, growing like wildflowers after a rain.

Rey swings the staff, testing its weight, and pride swells in her chest. It feels . . . good. Right. The crystal is her match, and the weapon is an extension of herself. It's languid, slicing through the air with ease, humming a merry tune as it clashes with Ben's saber.

He attacks, slashing and ducking and dancing around her with sure, graceful steps. She matches his movements easily, predicting every move before it happens, using his energy as an anchor as she casts herself out. She no longer feels like she's confined to her body, and the lightsaber doesn't feel like an object so much as a limb, moving with her, obeying her commands fluidly, acting on a whim, a thought.

They lose themselves in the fight, pulling their blows just before they land, laughing and sweating and struggling, reveling in their shared strength. When their blades clash, making an X between them, vibrating with the force of their energies, something snaps, inside Rey. Something that's been building, festering, for so long.

She deactivates her lightsaber, grabs a fistful of his shirt, and kisses him. Their mouths collide, hard enough to bruise. He reciprocates, kissing her like he's never kissed her before. Heat emanates from the place where their lips are locked, spreading throughout her entire body, warming her fingertips and her belly and her toes.

He deactivates his saber, and his arm encircles her waist, lifting her off her feet. He pushes her up against the wall, splaying his hands on either side of her head. Her legs are trembling, and she locks an arm around his neck, supporting herself as he kisses her, mouth moving from her lips to her jaw to her neck. She pushes back, teeth clipping his ear, kissing his jaw, tasting him. His stubble scrapes her lip. She's suddenly desperate, kissing him faster, harder, more insistently, begging him to kiss her back, to keep going, to keep making her feel the way she feels now. Like the world is burning. Like they're the only two people left in the galaxy.

His body awakens, against her, and she can feel him growing hard, through his trousers. His hand snakes up, under her shirt, and she guides his palms to her breasts, kissing him all the while. A soft groan builds in his throat. She kisses the freckles dotting his cheeks, his collarbone, moving her hips in slow imitation of what they both know is coming.

She moves away from the wall, towards the bed, pushing him down on the mattress. She climbs into his lap, straddling him, cradling the back of his head.

"Do you want to stop?" He asks, breathless. She shakes her head.

"No." She says, and kisses him, nudging her tongue into his mouth. "I just want you."

She lifts her arms, and he pulls her shirt over her head, planting kisses on her breasts, her stomach, hands clutching her back. She fumbles with his belt, and he cradles her face in his hands, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.

"Rey." He whispers, and it's a prayer, on his tongue.

**_Ben_ **

After it's over, she lays atop him, stroking his lips with her fingertips. His fingers draw small, gentle circles over the gnarled, lumpy scar on the left side of her abdomen. Her hands move along the length of his naked body, mapping his scars. The ones left by Snoke, by the battles he's fought. She kisses each one, making the mangled, broken parts of him something sacred. Holy. He can feel the silent apologies through her lips, despite the absurdity of the notion. Because there's nothing, under a thousand burning suns, she could ever do to hurt him. When she reaches the scar that cuts his face in half, her eyes fill with tears.

"Ben," She says, tracing the jagged line that reaches from brow to chest. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, stopping her words with his lips.

"There's nothing to apologize for." He says, quietly, pushing his fingers through her hair. He pushes the thought across the bond, reinforcing it. That he's got far worse scars than the one she gave him. That it's a part of him, now. A piece, she gave him. A gift. It's sacred ground.

She sighs, nestling into his bare chest, knotting her fingers with his.

"Can we stay here?" She asks, quietly, and her voice is like a child's, small and scared.

Ben's lip trembles. He plants a kiss on her crown.

"For as long as you want."

She nods, satisfied, and closes her eyes. After a while, her breathing grows deep and even. Ben listens to the movement of air through her lungs, and his heartbeat keeps time with the rise and fall of her chest, against him. He revels in her easy, simple beauty. She's rare and dangerous and wonderful, a fleeting dream. A spark. And she's  _his_. For now, she's his. Ben gazes at the ceiling, watching the flickering shadows, dreading the morning light, and the moment he must let her go.

**_Rey_ **

Rey slips out of bed, shivering as the cold, damp air in the chamber hits her naked body. She's temped to climb back into bed with him, once more. Ben, who's fast asleep and vulnerable and beautiful, solid and warm and alive—a living heater. His scent clings to her skin, and she loves it. Like wind and snow and pine and ash. She smiles, to herself, and picks her clothes off the floor. She dresses, quickly, and slips out the door.

Rey heads down the hall and up the staircase, deciding to go for a walk. She lets her feet wander along with her mind, aimlessly. She makes her way through the narrow corridors and vaults and up staircases. She passes RT-4, in the hall. The droid bids her a good morning, and she returns the sentiment, grinning.

She continues up another flight of stairs, and makes her way into a large, circular room. A lookout, of sorts. The roof is domed and split in half. One side is completely glass, a giant window. The other isn't a ceiling at all. It gives way to open air. It's a perfect view of the sky. The sun is rising, and pink and orange rays of sun stretch above the treetops. Rey leans on the rail, peering at the market place, just beginning to stir, prompted by the sun and the birdsong.

They need a plan. They've got what they need, and so far, she hasn't heard anything of the Resistance. A small, hopeful part of her believed Maz, at least, would know how to reach them. But Rey's received no word. They've been here for three days. She needs to weigh her options. She needs to formulate plan that will put her in touch with the Resistance. Preferably, a plan that includes Ben in the equation.

It's a tall order.

Rey sighs, letting her head fall into her hands, massaging her temples. From where she's standing, she's hardly made any progress on him. She was supposed to be the one to turn him to the light. To bring Ben Solo back from the darkness. It's not so simple. If anything, he's tempted her away from the light, from her friends. For all she knows, they're stuck on some wasteland (Jakku, maybe? Hoth?), dying, while she's sitting on her ass, eating steak and getting fucked to the heavens and stars, above.

Her cheeks flush, in shame.

Gods, she's despicable. She deserves to burn in seven hells. She should pack up and turn around, right now. Maybe she'll go back to Jakku. If she deserves to burn in hell, it's a good place to start.

"Rey?"

She jumps, turning on her heel. Ben's standing in the doorway, cocking an eyebrow. His clothes are wrinkled, hair tousled from sleep and their, ah,  _activities_  last night.

"I thought you left." He says, drawing closer, a ghost of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. His voice is roughened, from sleep. He pushes a hand through her hair and kisses her. After a moment, she pulls away, cupping his face in her hands.

"I wouldn't leave you, Ben." She says. He rolls his eyes.

"Why should I trust you,  _scavenger_?"

"That didn't seem to be an issue, last night." She retorts, grinning. Ben's face flushes, but it doesn't seem to hinder his pursuit for her affection. He kisses her, again, lips brushing the soft skin of her earlobe. She shivers, wrapping her arms around his middle. He works his way down her neck, and she hums, contentedly, closing her eyes.

"Have you changed your mind?" He says, softly, after a while. The smile slides off her face. She draws away, searching his face.

"Ben . . ."

He sighs, frowning.

"You haven't." He says, more to himself. He stiffens, looking distant. There's tension, in the air, and Rey's positive the temperature's dropped at least five degrees. He averts his gaze.

"Ben." She says, softly. "Ben, look at me." He does, and his face is almost pained. "Nothing you can do or say will change my mind."

"I've given everything to you. I killed my  _master_ , for you. It's never enough." His voice breaks, on the last word. Rey bites her tongue, trying to ignore the familiar ache in her chest. If he could just see past his obscenely large nose, if he would just open his goddamn eyes . . .

 _Why_ does he have to be such a bull-headed, stubborn asshole? Why can't he, for once, swallow his pride and do what's right?

"I'm sorry, Ben. I'm  _sorry_. What more do you want?" Tears well in her eyes, spilling over her lashes. He grabs her hand, ensnaring her in a steel grip. His eyes burn through her.

"You." He growls, fiercely. "I want you."

And he's kissing her. His tongue slips between her teeth. His hand reaches up and grabs a fistful of her hair, tugging her towards him. Her hand cups the back of his head, the other arm slung around his neck to keep her balance as her whole body trembles and her knees begin to buckle. He's crying. They're both crying. And it occurs to her how screwed up this is. She should be angry with him. They should be screaming at each other. She just kisses him harder, bruising his lips, digging her fingernails into his flesh, deep enough to draw blood. He bites her lip, a low moan builds in his throat. She shivers, feels the familiar heat between her thighs.

"I see you've found the observatory."

They break apart. Maz is standing in the doorway, smiling knowingly. Rey's cheeks burn, with embarrassment. She blinks away the tears, staring at her feet.

Maz turns on her heel, chuckling, motioning for them to follow. Rey does, ducking her head and hurrying after the older woman. Ben falls into step, behind her. When they're a safe enough distance from prying ears, Maz starts to talk.

"A First Order spy recognized your shuttle, last night. Apparently, it's marked. I had him captured and sedated before he made too much of a scene. I destroyed the ship, as well. I believe it's in your best interest. There's some guys I know, they'll provide transportation in exchange for credits."

"That won't be necessary." Ben growls. Maz ignores him.

"Azuri Mo'lore. He knows everything about everybody. He can get you in touch with the Resistance. He travels here about every two weeks or so. I haven't seen him for a while. If you're willing to wait, he's your best bet." She says. Rey blinks, mulling over her words.

Even if they manage to get some transportation, it complicates things. If they wait for Maz's friend, they waste precious time. As they speak, the Resistance could be in trouble. On the other hand, their options are limited. What choice do they have, really?

"Thanks, Maz." Rey says. "If it's alright with you, we'll stick around." Ben stiffens, beside her. Rey ignores him. "If Mo'lore shows up, I want to be the first to know."

Maz nods, touching her arm. "Of course."

She stalks off, down a corridor.

Ben rounds on her, grabbing her arm.

"We can't stay here." He says.

"We don't have a choice." Rey retorts. "Even if we did, where would we go?"

Ben runs a nervous hand through his hair, chewing on his cheek.

"There's a planet, on the Outer Rim. Dolekk. The only inhabitants are the natives, and they're uninterested in politics. We'd be safe." Ben says.

"I can't run off with you, Ben." Rey sighs, shaking her head. "I have people counting on me, I have a duty, to the galaxy."

Ben scoffs.

"Duty, honor . . . empty words. You belong with me. Why do you keep denying it?"

Rey glares at him.

"I'm waiting." She says, firmly. "I'm staying here." She looks at him, and her face softens. "Stay with me, Ben. It's not like you've got anywhere else to go." The words leave her mouth, and she knows it's true. There's nothing for him to go back to. He's stuck with her, whether he likes it or not.

"Ben?"

After a moment, the hard edges dissolve from his features.

"You're right." He admits. Rey smiles, slipping her hand into his palm. He hesitates, a beat, before entwining his fingers with her own. The gesture is utterly wordless, and yet, it speaks multitudes. His affection floats across the bond, disguised in layers of exasperation and begrudging amusement. At her stubbornness, her knack for slipping past his barriers.

"Truce?" She asks. Ben sighs, and glances at their entwined hands.

"Truce."

**_Ben_ **

Ben paces the length of the room.

It's been six days since they arrived here, four since Rey convinced him to stay here. Here, on this shithole planet, rubbing elbows with smugglers and pirates and thieves. Ben is restless. They're sentenced to days of hiding, avoiding the First Order's prying eyes. It's likely othere might've recognized the shuttle, as well. If the news reaches the First Order, Hux, it won't' end well. With each passing day, the odds of their capture increase, exponentially.

Ben struggles with the waiting and wondering. His muscles are disintegrating, becoming tight and untrained from the lack of use. He hates the inertia, the lethargy that clings to his being, cooped up in this rat's nest.

Rey keeps busy, combing through Maz's stockpiles of junk, looking for gems. The old radio sits in the corner, constantly belching static and fragments of songs. She meditates, sometimes hours at a time, and it leaves Ben nothing to do but mope and stare at walls. Something with which he's had plenty of practice, admittedly, but infuriating all the same.

His boredom lends him plenty of opportunities to think. He paces, wringing his hands, trying to think his way out of the guest room that's slowly become his prison. He withdraws inside his own head, chasing circles around his options.

He's at a crossroads. Join the Resistance, and face his mother's legacy, people he's spent his whole, miserable alliance with the First Order trying to destroy. Flee to Dolekk and build a new order, without her. Stay here and rot in a fucking dungeon. At least the food's decent. At least he's with Rey.

 _Rey_. Spending so much time locked in close quarters has given them plenty of time to talk. And kiss. And fuck.

Without her, he would've stolen a ship and gotten offworld a long time ago.

He stops his pacing, gazing at Rey.

For the past hour, she's been buried in a pile of junk, tinkering and muttering to herself. Too often, Ben finds himself watching her while she works, both fascinated and amused. She paws through the artifacts and fiddles with the bent and rusted metal, using screwdrivers and other makeshift tools to take things apart and build them again. She's got a mechanic's mind, an innate drive to fix things, to figure out how they work. Some of it is the scavenger in her. Some of it is pure, preternatural talent.

"What's wrong?" She asks, not looking up.

"I'm bored." He whines, all too aware that he sounds like a child. At this point, he's past caring.

Rey shrugs, still not really paying attention.

"Well, I'm sure you can find some way to occupy yourself." She says. It infuriates him, how easily she can ignore him. How easily she can get distracted by other things, when she's the only thing he can focus on. She's a blinding light, a burning star. The brightest thing in the room. When he tries to cast his eyes away, he's blind. Blind to everything but her.

He pads across the room and sits beside her. He reaches out and tugs at her hand, causing the hunk of rusted metal—a piece to an old hyperdrive motivator—she's been tinkering with to slide from her lap and clatter to the floor. She shoots him a look and tugs her hand back, retrieving the piece. A couple strands of her hair fall out of her bun and into her face. She brushes the strands away and straightens. He scoots closer to her, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her. Now, he's got her attention. He smirks, triumphantly. Rey pulls way, catching his wrists in her hands. She gives him a quizzical look, trying and failing to suppress a smile.

"What're you doing?"

He kisses her again.

"Occupying myself." He feels her smile, against his lips.

"You're unbelievable."

She kisses him back, gentle and chaste at first, growing more insistent, almost desperate, taking and giving. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and lays her on her back, kneeling atop her. She's still kissing him, messily, breathlessly.

He pulls away, gazing down at her, his queen, his warrior. A strong, vibrant ray of light, a star burst, sprawled out beneath him. Carelessly beautiful. Mischievous, yet compassionate. Feral, yet regal. Capricious, yet constant. Her hair is fanned out on the ground, framing her face in dark locks. She's got a smudge of grime and rust over her left eyebrow, and her lips are soft and pink and properly kissed. She's looking at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"What?"

He smiles, jerks his chin.

"Nothing."

He kisses her nose, her brow, the hollow where her collarbone and neck meet. She sighs, dramatically, placing a hand on his broad chest. She pushes him, away, returning to her work. Amusement, mischief, floats across the bond, as she denies him affection, enjoying his torment. He frowns, grumbling, irritated and fascinated. Wondering just when it was he fell, knowing he can't every hope to climb back out of the abyss. He's hers. She's his. His sun, his stars. His everything.

**_Rey_ **

Maz invites them for a drink, in the cantina. Rey's grateful. She needs fresh air. And Ben needs to get out and about before he snaps and goes on a murder rampage, or something. She sees it in his eyes, in moments. Flashes of something . . . darkness. All the pent energy inside him is building, threatening to burst. When it does, anybody in the vicinity better run, and run fast.

She's surprised it hasn't happened yet. Of course, she's kept him busy. She smirks, smoothing out the wrinkles in the cowl she's wrapped around her shoulders. She's still a tad sore from the things they did, last night. And the night before. Gods, he's made her into some dark-sider whore, pillaging and lusting and fucking without a care in the world.

This'll be good for him. For them. It's dangerous, yes, but it's necessary. So, she's in high spirits as she pulls the cowl over her head and tucks her lightsaber into her belt. She's made a few adjustments, since the initial assembly. Now, the staff can fold in on itself. That way, it's small enough to tuck into her belt or conceal in the folds of a cloak.

They walk down the stairwell side by side. Maz's waiting for them, perched on the countertop, sipping from a mug. She grins, waves them over.

"Come, drink." She says, and shoves the mug into Rey's hands. Rey takes a seat at the bar and sips. It's ale. The taste fills her disgust, and Rey coughs, grimacing.

Maz laughs. "It's a bit of an acquired taste."

Rey smiles, and hands the mug to Ben. He takes a swallow, and his face never changes. Even so, Rey can sense his repulsion across the bond. She smirks.

Maz adjusts her goggles, peering at them through two oversized eyes. "So young. So touched by war and bloodshed. Forced to age, too fast." Maz says, and frowns. "It's a shame." She pours herself more ale and knocks it back, squinting at them through her gargantuan spectacles. "The universe is unkind."

Rey opens her mouth, to speak, and an inquisitive beep stops her words. Something nudges her leg. She glances down, and her breath catches in her throat. She'd recognize that shiny, orange and white paint job, anywhere. A smile breaks over her face.

"BB-8?"


	10. Crossroads

**_Rey_ **

"What're you doing here?" She asks, sliding from the bar stool, kneeling beside the droid. Her mind races a million miles a minute. Her heart is beating in her throat, but she's afraid to hope. The droid whirrs and beeps, trembling with excitement.

"Poe? Here?" Rey says, tears springing in her eyes. Relief washes over her, and her spirits soar.

She straightens.

"Where?" BB-8 beeps, rolling away. Rey follows, and he leads her through the bar and out the door, down the steps and towards the woods. She breaks into a jog, and sweat beads on her forehead and slips down the back of her neck. BB-8 leads her through the woods, and she kicks up clods of dirt as she covers the ground, snaking through the trees. The path opens onto the launch pad, at the entrance of the port.

Poe's standing a few yards from the  _Falcon_ 's loading ramp, speaking with a Takodanian port officer. She breaks into a run when she catches sight of him.

"Poe!" She cries.

"Rey!" He cries, happily, catching sight of her. She sprints the last few yards, closing the distance between them. She throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his middle. He hugs her, tightly. When he pulls away, his eyes are shining.

"You're alive." She breathes, and hugs him, again. "Where are the others? Are they okay?" The questions spill from her lips before she can stop them. Poe's eyes darken, briefly.

"We're alright. We took a hard hit, on Hoth. We lost a fair number of soldiers in the attack, but we made it. We're based on Naboo, now. The Naboo monarch agreed to an alliance. We've got ships, now. And a quarter of the Naboo troops. They're militarizing, as we speak. Naboo's support has sparked an increase in recruitments. After the Nubian Monarchy aligned with us, it didn't take long for other planets to follow." Poe says. Rey's head spins, with the good news. Poe grins, touching her shoulder. "We're gonna be alright."

"And Finn? Rose? D'Acy?"

"They're okay."

Rey smiles, tears spilling over her lashes. Someone clears their throat, behind her, and she turns on her heel. Ben stands a few feet behind her, arms folded, face beaded with sweat.

"The best pilot in the Resistance." Ben growls, dwelling on each word, tasting it, spitting it out. A flicker of recognition crosses Poe's face. Before Rey can blink, he's drawing his blaster. She ignites her staff, jumping between them, blocking Poe's shot.

"Poe, don't!" She cries. Poe's looking at her like she's gone mad, like he doesn't quite recognize her.

"He's the enemy." Poe says. "Rey, what're you thinking?"

"He's helping me, Poe. He's changed, he . . ." Rey swallows. "He saved me."

"He's brainwashing you." Poe says.

"Drop the gun, Poe." Rey demands, gritting her teeth.

Poe scoffs.

"Stop defending him, Rey. He killed Han. He's killed our people, burned villages to the ground. He tortured me."

She feels Ben's anger, his pain, across the bond. Her heart's pounding in her head, and it's hard to focus. She keeps her eyes trained on Poe, keeping her staff aimed at his chest, ready to shield Ben. To protect him, no matter the cost.

"I can't let you kill each other."

"Shit, Rey. Get out of the way!" Poe yells. There are tears in his eyes.

"No. Poe, please." Rey begs. "Drop the gun."

Poe shifts his weight, gaze flicking between Rey and Ben, unsure. He swears, stowing his blaster in his belt. Rey sighs and deactivates her lightsaber, willing Ben to keep his temper. The hatred between the two is almost tangible. Rey looks at Ben, and the look in his eyes is enough to make her blood run cold.

Poe marches forward and grabs her arm, pulling her toward the  _Falcon_.

"C'mon. We're leaving." He says.

"Poe, wait." She cries, wrenching her arm away. He stops. His brows knit, and his eyes are wounded, confused. A pang of guilt shoots through her.

She turns, looking at Ben.

"Ben." She says. "Join me." She reaches for his hand, but he pulls away from her, stepping away. Rey's vision blurs with unshed tears. "There's nothing left, here. Ben. Please." Her voice is barely a whisper.

"No." He says. His face is unreadable. An emotionless mask. And his voice is hollow.

"Ben, don't do this." She reaches for breath, feeling her chest constricting. "Come with me."

"I can't." Ben says. "I don't belong."

He looks at her, almost pitying, and his tone changes, sharper and angrier.

"And you're a fool for thinking I'd change my mind. I've made my choice, Rey." He says. "The Resistance doesn't deserve you. They're going to turn you into a puppet. They're going to use you, until there's nothing left. Until you're delusional. Naïve and vain and selfish. Everything my uncle was, and the masters before him."

He bites his lip, and tears slide down the length of his cheeks. Blood rushes in Rey's ears, and she can't tear her eyes away. His eyes are swallowing her, dragging her into a dark, raging sea.

"I know what it's like, to be a puppet. Used up, and cast aside. It's too late, for me, but it's not too late for you."

"Ben . . ."

"I'm going to destroy everything the Jedi stand for. I'm going to destroy the First Order. And I . . . I need your help. Rey, we can restore balance to the galaxy."

She can feel the energy around them, chaotic and pulsing and imbalanced. And she can't breathe, can't think. Ben offers his hand, and his eyes burn holes into her soul.

"Come with me."

Rey's eyes fill with tears.

"I can't."

Poe grabs her hand, tugging her away.

"Rey, c'mon. We gotta go."

"Poe . . ."

"Let's  _go,_ Rey."

Rey glances at Ben, desperate. He swallows, nodding.

"I always knew you'd leave. I was foolish for thinking I could change your mind, that I could save you . . . but I always knew." His words cut straight to her heart, like a lightsaber. Like poison. The space between them is alien. He's cold and guarded, and the truth hits Rey like a blow, straight to the chest.

This is it. Things won't go back to the way they were. Not ever. She's leaving him, and he'll never forgive her. She doesn't have a choice. She wishes he'd yell at her, attack her, even. It'd be easier. But he's not. He won't. Her breath hitches. She blinks at him through her tears, gasping, trying to understand why he's not  _touching_  her, why he's not reaching for her, why he's not even trying . . .

"Ben . . ."

"Goodbye, Rey."

The connection breaks, between them. Rey splutters, clutching at her chest, feeling a dark, cold emptiness spreading throughout her body. Her thoughts are quiet. Too quiet. Her knees are jelly, and the world spins in slow, dizzying circles. Poe tugs her arm, dragging her toward the  _Falcon_ 's ramp. She throws a last, desperate glance over her shoulder, wishes she hadn't.

The look in his eyes is one of betrayal. His shoulders slump, and he's folding in on himself. His hands hang by his sides, empty and weaponless. Tears slip down the slopes of his cheeks and fall onto the dust, at his feet.

Poe leads her up the ramp and into the main hold, and helps her into a seat. Rey stares at him, numbly. His lips are moving, but she doesn't catch what he's saying. Eventually, he gives up, and goes into the cockpit.

Rey feels the engine vibrating, beneath her, feels the  _Falcon_  shudder and it rises in the air. Outside the window, Takodana's forests blur into a smear of green as Poe launches them into hyperspace.

**_Ben_ **

Ben stands, rooted to the spot, shell-shocked. He squints in the bright sun, watching the  _Falcon_  rise into the air and rocket off, into the sky. It's a slap in the face, watching that ship speed away from him. Watching her, Rey, the only person he cares for, fly out of his life on that karking hunk of junk. Probably forever. With the best pilot in the Resistance, no less. Who's better-looking, who could probably charm the tentacles off a Rathtar.

He curses, biting his lip, drawing blood. Tears slip down his cheeks. He swipes a hand over his face, wiping them away.

He should've expected it. A year ago, he would've expected nothing less. But she changed him. She made him better. Some part of him wanted to believe she'd healed his poor, crooked heart. She fought at his side and kissed him and let him into her bed. She took what she needed, and walked away.

It's not like it's the first time. He's used to people leaving. Han was the first, always leaving, always finding an escape, the odd smuggling job, or a drink, or a gamble. Always looking  _past_  him instead of  _at_  him, never able to understand him. Aching for a son he could understand, not the broken, sensitive boy before him, wrestling with his own demons. His mother's mistakes came later, when she sent him to his uncle, insisted it'd be good for him. It wasn't. It was good for her. She was washing her hands of him, making him somebody else's problem. It wasn't until later he realized she was  _afraid_  of him. That hurt. That hurt, more than anything else.

And Rey. Rey, who hadn't shied away from him. Who saw beyond the mask and the alias. Who found Ben Solo buried in the shadows and attempted to lead him into the light. He laughs, cruel and humorless. She'd finally accepted the impossibility of the feat. Impossible, because there's no forgiving the things he's done. Because Ben Solo is dead.

What had he done to deserve her? What had he done to deserve  _this_?

It's agony.

 _Why_  does this hurt so much? Why is  _she_ , of all people, capable of bringing him to his knees? She left scars so much deeper than the rest. She's gone, and it feels like he's being ripped apart, from the inside.

He forces himself to take a breath, pulling himself together. There's no point in dwelling on it, now. There will be time, later. Now, he must mobilize. He can't stay here. There's no reason for him to stay here. He's got nothing left, no home to return to, no allies and no family to call his own. He's lost. And it took Rey's leaving for him to realize it.

There's a small freighter, unoccupied, at the far end of the launch pad. His hand finds the hilt of his lightsaber and rests there. He draws his cowl tighter around his head and walks toward it, forcing himself to take careful, measured steps. He can't afford to make a scene. If he blows his cover, half the First Order's fleet will be on his tail in a matter of minutes.

He reaches the freighter and lowers the ramp. An official steps in front of him, blocking his path.

"Identification is required to board this ship." The man says, grabbing his arm. Ben draws his lightsaber, slashing through the man's arm. His mouth stretches wide in a silent scream, face ashen. His arm dangles at his side, held to his body by a few tendons and strings of shredded muscle. The wound is cauterized and bloodless. Ben covers the man's mouth, passing a hand over his forehead. The man falls unconscious, instantly, crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut.

Ben steps over the man and hurries up the ramp, closing it behind him, and rushes to the cockpit. He fires the engine, and it roars to life. The control panel lights up, and he taps in commands with incredible speed, operating on autopilot. The controls are similar to the  _Falcon_ 's, and he grew up flying that ship. He seizes the throttles and eases the freighter upward. The comm hums to life, and a voice screams through the radio.

"Freighter HT-5600, identify yourself. You're unauthorized for takeoff. I repeat, you're unauthorized to leave this port. Land immediately, or we will open fire."

Ben cuts the radio, silencing the voice. After a minute, the freighter shudders, and the lights flicker, as the ship takes fire. Ben accelerates, dodging the blasts, soaring over the treetops. His mind races a million miles a minute; he tries to stay a step ahead, plotting his next move, accommodating for his headlong flight into artillery fire. He's setting the coordinates for Ahch-To before his brain catches up with the rest of him. It's the birthplace of the Jedi Order, yes. The very Order he's trying to destroy. But the island, the mirror, is beckoning him. He saw the reflection, in their shared vision. He felt it's pull, it's alignment with the dark side of the force. He heard the voices, read the memories and the Force web surrounding the island. He needs answers. He needs to find the path he's meant to lead. And it's a good place to start.

He navigates through the atmosphere, and, once he's high enough, punches the hyperdrive and launches the ship into space.

The trip through hyper spaces lasts a few hours, during which Ben wanders around the freighter, trying to keep himself occupied, trying to keep his mind blank. And he knows if he pauses to think for a moment, thoughts of  _her_ will flood his mind, and it will be too painful to bear.

So, he prowls the hallways of the freighter like a predator on the hunt, rummaging through cargo spaces, reading the memories and the energies left on the vessel. He sifts through the database, piecing together the freighter's history. The original owner gave it a name, the  _Apollo_ , and owned it for a span of eight years before it was sold to a Correllian merchant, used to transport goods between Jakku and other worlds in the Western Reaches.

The comm beeps and Ben ignores it, sighing, pushing a hand through his hair. He surveys a star map, tracing the line that marks the start of the Unknown Regions. Ahch-To is near. He doesn't need a map to tell him that. He just knows. He can feel it. It's a powerful, light side entity. A pulsing, beating heart in the Force's system. It's no wonder the first Jedi chose it to build their temple upon.

Ben massages his temples, blowing air through his nose. He dearly hopes he's making the right choice, coming here. He's seen it, in dreams. In Rey's dreams, and his own. He's been there in spirit and mind, if not in body. And every ghost he chases, every shadow, every thread he grasps at, seems to lead straight here, to this island. The birthplace of the Jedi Order. A light side monolith with darkness at its heart.

The  _Apollo_  jolts as it drops out of hyperspace. At first, there's nothing around the ship but thousands upon thousands of stars, stretching for miles. This is space.  _Deep_ space, uncharted and foreign, swallowing him like a beast's dark maw.

Ben holds his breath, consulting the map, feeling along the Force web for Ahch-To's light. It's there, brilliant and bright. After a minute, he catches a glimpse of the aquatic world, looming on the horizon. It's glassy and blue, overcast with clusters of thick, gray clouds.

Ben urges the  _Apollo_  forward, towards the planet's surface. He allows intuition and the Force to lead him toward the island, navigating through the atmosphere. Rain plinks against the  _Apollo_ 's window as he dips below the clouds. Darkness has fallen, and lightning strikes every few minutes, bathing the thunderheads in white light. Ben grits his teeth, white-knuckling the controls, battling his way through the wind and raging storm. The island looms in the distance, a land mass comprised of jagged pillars of black rock that scream up from the violent sea, towards the sky.

He circles the island a few times, looking for a flat surface, eventually landing on an outcropping on the west side of the island. The  _Apollo_  shudders as it touches the ground. Rain lashes against its sides, and the wind whistles, harshly, outside. Ben pulls his hood up and lowers the ramp, stepping onto the island. The rain soaks through his clothes in seconds. He shivers, glancing around, pulling his cloak tighter around him.

Luke's presence is overwhelming. He's everywhere, in the rocks and the wind and the raging sea, in the thrumming energy surrounding the island. The energy hums, inside him. For a moment, Rey's presence flickers at the edges of his consciousness. But it's a fleeting shadow, and it passes, leaving him cold and empty and aching.

He rouses himself, feet slipping in the mud as he clambers up a rocky slope. He wanders the island for a half an hour, searching the island for some shelter. He's about to call it quits and return to the  _Apollo_ , and stumbles upon a collection of small, stone huts nestled on a craggy hillside.

He jogs to the nearest one, slipping on the rain-soaked cobblestone pathway. He pulls open the door and ducks inside, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the doorframe. The hut was made for someone considerably shorter than him. He straightens, glancing around the hut. It's empty, stripped bare, with only a stone shelf jutting out of the wall, serving as a bunk. He peels off his dampened cloak and shakes the water from his hair. He's wary and tired and hungry, already fed up with Ahch-To's horrendous weather. There's no food in the hut, and it only sharpens the ache in his stomach.

He strips off his boots and curls up on the bunk, listening to the rain and the wind thrash against the walls. Here, in the dark and rhythmic thrumming of the storm, Rey crawls into his thoughts. He draws his arms around his torso, trying to barricade any thought of her from his mind. But the pain in his chest sharpens, and it's hard to breathe. He plays their final, parting words in his head, over and over again. When he closes his eyes, he can see her face. As clear and unblemished as he would if she was standing right in front of him. He can see the conflict in her face, the warring sides of her, and he can feel the repulsion, the magnetism, pulling at the halves of himself. He can see the tears in her eyes and the grief, the guilt, in her heart, but it pales in comparison to the agony he's feeling, now.

There's nothing left, for him. He chose her, over everything. She was the sun, and he let her gravity pull him into a helpless orbit. He was free-falling, and he was free. He gave her the sun and the stars, and she gave him a parting word. She pressed his face up to the window, and then closed the blinds. She promised she wouldn't leave, not under a million burning stars, and she left.

She's gone.

He drifts, empty and aching, waiting for sleep to claim him. He wants the sweet release, the relief that comes with feeling nothing and seeing nothing and being nothing, at all.

Sleep is morphine. Death is mercy. But the universe isn't kind.

Light slumber comes, pulling him out like driftwood in the tide, pushing him back towards the rocky shore, where stones cut his feet and he struggles with the waves. Toward the sharp sting of awareness and consciousness and the bitter, pulsing agony that comes with being alive, with drawing oxygen through his lungs and pushing it back out again.

He lingers in the gray space between waking and sleeping, head bobbing above the waves, only to be dragged beneath the surface, again. And all through the night, the pounding of the rain on the hut's roof sounds like waves, and a voice weaves itself in and out of the dull roar. Her voice, riding the ocean and sea foam. A cadence, drifting through his dreams.

**_Rey_ **

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Rey lifts her head, raising her eyes to meet Poe's gaze. He chews his lip and shifts his weight, worried and spasmodic. Suspicion and disappointment come off him in waves, and she doesn't need to share a Force bond with him to sense it. It's almost tangible, clogging her senses, almost suffocating.

"About what?" She asks, stiffly.

"Any of it." Poe says, incredulous. "Maybe you should start with your alliance with Kylo Ren, or the fact he looks at you like you put in the sun in the sky. I'm sure it's quite a tale." Poe rolls his eyes.

"I'm not in the mood for a lecture." She says, and the words come out harsher and sharper than she intended. She sighs, and turns away from him, glaring at the Falcon's window and the blue, spiraling wormhole outside.

She knows he's working out what to say next, if he should press her or let the subject drop. Thankfully, he decides on the latter. He leaves the room, slinking back to the cockpit. Rey blows out a breath, relieved.

He hasn't exhausted the subject. She'll face numerous questions about her whereabouts when she returns. No doubt, news will spread. It always does. Word will get out, that Rey, the hero, the last Jedi, spent a month shacking up with Kylo Ren. That she's a deserter and a traitor. But Poe doesn't know  _everything_ , and Rey's got some control over which details to share with the Resistance and which will remain carefully guarded secrets.

Rey closes her eyes, feeling the sting of tears burning behind her eyelids. It hurts, to think of him.

She left him.

He let her in. He bared his soul, showed her the weakest, vulnerable parts of himself. He trusted her.

She'll never erase the memory of him, that look in his eyes, from her mind. It's seared in the backs of her eyelids. For a moment, he was the little boy, watching his father disappear in the Falcon. And she'll never forget those eyes, dark and sad and betrayed. But there was some truth in those eyes, too. Some terrible suspicion confirmed. Like he'd always expected her to leave, someday. And she'd proven him right.

That's worse. A hundred times worse. Hadn't she done the same thing, to him? Hadn't she always harbored some small fear in the back of her mind, that he might one day board a ship and leave her stranded, somewhere? That he might give up on her? She's so afraid of abandonment, so afraid of people walking out of her life.

He hadn't abandoned her. He was never going to abandon her.

She promised she'd never leave him. And she's breaking that promise. She's abandoning him, like she'd always feared he'd do, to her. She's so much worse than him. She's the monster, in this equation. Not him.

Rey slams her fist on the table, and the Dejarik game activates. She peers at the hologram monsters, cursing herself and the stars above, wishing she could sink through the floor and disappear. Wishing he'd appear before her, through Force-bond, just to scream at her. But the connection is broken, and he's gone, and no one's there to scream at her. No one, but herself.

Silently, she prays for mercy, something to alleviate the pain. The guilt is a heavy weight in her gut, and the shame burns in her cheeks. But it's nothing compared to the pain in her chest, the ragged hole, where Ben should be. His loss is nothing short of agony. Where his energy used to flow through her, where his thoughts used to walk hand and hand with her own across the bridge between their minds, there is nothing. And the silence and emptiness spreads throughout her body like a disease, like rot.

She's cold.

She prays for his pity, his forgiveness, maybe, and some way to return to him and set her wrongs right. Maybe he'll kill her, the next time they meet. It wouldn't be such a bad way to go. His bloodred broadsword through the chest would probably hurt less than the pain currently shooting through her body, setting it aflame.

The more Rey replays it in her head, the more it hurts. She kicks herself, over and over. She should've tried harder. She should've dragged his sorry ass onto the Falcon, herself.

She sighs and buries her head in her hands, pressing the heels of her palms over her eyes. A strangled sort of moan escapes her lips. A In the darkness, his eyes stare back at her, full of pity and accusation and a burning question.

_You left me. You betrayed me. You broke your promise._

_Why?_

A small, worried beep derails her train of thought, and she sits up, letting her hands fall into her lap. BB-8 bumps her leg, gently, peering at her. She rests a hand on the dome of his head.

Rey sighs.

"Hey, Bud."

He whirrs and chirps, concerned, and Rey knows it's a question.

Rey smiles, sadly.

"It's nothing." She says. She peers at the Falcon's window, feeling a hard knot form in her throat, and her voice wavers and trembles when she speaks. "I'll be alright."

BB-8 tips rests his head against her knee, and gives a sad sigh. It's the closest thing to sympathy his programming permits him to express. Rey's stomach twists, and her eyes well with tears, feeling like the least deserving person of any sort of sympathy. She pats the droid's head, stroking him with trembling fingers. Programming or not, she's grateful.

**_Ben_ **

A stream of sunlight filters through the hut's window, falling in a large, bright squares across Ben's scarred face, swollen with sleep. He stirs, and sits up, squinting in the light. Disoriented, he panics, trying to gather his bearings. He's on Ahch-To; the island's Force web is a powerful entity, a constant reminder of where he is, and what this island means to the order he's sworn to destroy.

But it's not the only order he despises. He's no longer devoted to the darkness, but he's not devoted to the light, either. He's in-between, walking the line between black and white. Good and evil. Isn't that what it's supposed to be? Powerful light, powerful dark. Together, gray. A balance, ebbing and flowing, an all-encompassing, constant Force _._

Ahch-To isn't solely light, either. There's darkness, here. At the heart. It's the mirror. Even now, as he sits on the bunk in the hut, he can sense its presence. It's whispering to him, calling him, and he intends to see it, for himself. Maybe then, he can finally get some answers. A direction, at least. Something to hold on to, as his world spins out of control.

His top priority, however, is finding something to eat. Hunger pangs shoot through his stomach, and he's hollow. Lightheaded. He stands and stretches, ignoring his tight, protesting muscles, and emerges from the hut.

A group of odd, grayish, fishlike creatures are milling around, clothed in robes of white. He freezes, reaching for his lightsaber. The fish creatures barely pay him any attention. They shuffle about their business, sweeping the stone pathways, tidying the huts, chattering amongst themselves in a language he doesn't recognize, nor understand.

He opts to ignore them as he searches the huts, searching for food. Rey must've stayed in one of these huts, during her time, here. His heart crawls into his throat, and he swallows, pushing the thought from his mind.

Most of the huts are empty, save for one. He opens the door, immediately recognizing his uncle's presence, here. The rock slab jutting out of the wall is piled with a collection of threadbare blankets. A pile of ash and charred wood rests in the center of the hut. A collection of firewood is stacked in the corner. There's a little shelf piled high with little trinkets and stones Luke must've collected, over the years, along with a little kettle. It's haunting, really. Luke's possessions have been left untouched, and Ben half-expects his uncle to come stomping through the door.

After a bit of searching, Ben finds a couple of rations squirreled away. He sighs, relieved, and stores them under his cloak. He eats outside, settling himself on a rock overlooking the sea. He watches the tide, the waves crashing on the rocks, cramming food into his mouth. The rations are bland and dry, probably a hundred years old. He's too hungry and exhausted to care.

When he returns to the huts, the fish people are gone. The sun warms his face, and he sighs, grateful it's not storming. He glances around, figuring he should explore the island, some. He tries to gather his bearings, uncertain which direction he came from, or where he landed the  _Apollo._

He pulls his cowl over his head and follows the path, through the huts and down a crude, stone staircase, cut into the side of the island. He descends the staircase until he's closer to the ocean, walking along the shore. The sea spray blows against his face, and the salty air stings his nose. He clambers over the rocks, surveying the area. He encounters clusters of funny birds nesting in the little outcrops and grassy knolls. Far off shore, some sea monster's tail arises from the surface of the water, creating large, white-capped waves, splashing through the water like a large rudder. Ben shivers, making a mental note to keep out of the water. He'd prefer to avoid becoming something's lunch.

After he's walked a few miles along shore, he turns back the way he came, hiking the stairwell. Sweat slips down his collar and pours from his forehead. The wind batters against him as he makes the climb.

Higher up, he spots the  _Apollo_ , and makes his way toward it. He lowers the ramp and climbs inside the freighter. The lights flicker, and Ben powers up the console, checking the fuel stores. It's got a half a tank left, more than enough to get him off this rock and far enough into the Outer Rim to refuel. But there's something about this place . . . It's calling him. He spent most of the day stomping around, exploring, and he's only scratched the surface. The island holds many secrets. Ben doubts even Luke uncovered all of them. The planet's tucked away, and far enough from the First Order and the Resistance. It's as good a place as any, at the moment.

The light on the comm blinks, and Ben toys with the transceiver. Unbidden, his mind wanders, and thoughts of Rey flood his mind. He could do it. Right here, right now. Contact the Falcon, or the base on Naboo. He's got the coordinates, and the channels. He could return to her, to the Resistance. He could give it all up.

He bites his tongue, shaking his head. He can't return. He can't fall to his knees and beg for their forgiveness.

The Resistance is doomed. They're disorganized and weak, hardly a threat. And Rey's doomed, too. She's their puppet, now. Ben's lip curls, and his fingers clench on the arm of the pilot's chair. She made her choice. So be it.

He tries and fails to push Rey from his mind, knowing the time he spends dwelling on her is time spent pushing himself further over the edge. It's torture, thinking of her. Brooding over the time they spent together. The memory of her lips, seared into his skin. The feeling of her naked body pressed against his, warm and beautiful and alive, trembling with pleasure and the exertion of their efforts.

It was the first time he'd been with a woman, the first time he'd ever touched anyone like that. And he'll never forget the way she touched him, the way she kissed him, in ways that he didn't even know he wanted to be touched and kissed. But,  _Gods_ , he wanted it. The way she looked at him, with nothing but tenderness and care and affection, even love. He  _craves_ it. He spent his whole life putting distance between himself and the people he cared about, watched them leave, one by one. Until she came, kicking and screaming, drawing him in like a magnet. A bright star, in his blackened sky.

Ben switches the power off and descends the Apollo's ramp, rousing himself into action. Anything to get her out of his head.

He returns to the huts, trying to orient himself. He's beginning to learn to island's geography. He can gauge which direction he's heading. The First Jedi Temple isn't far. The Force moves powerfully around it, as it does with the mirror. If he follows the Force's pull, he'll find what he's looking for.

He starts walking, letting his feet carry him where the Force's energy is the strongest. It leads him down the stairwell, back towards the shore. He comes to small inlet, a reef, and peers into the water. A crashed X-Wing, probably Luke's, sits beneath the waves—a rippling shadow, a phantom. The light's pull isn't strong, here. There's another entity. Another warring half. He can hear the mirror's voice, an unintelligible chorus, just audible over the howling wind and the breaking waves. Here, the darkness drowns out the light.

He's close.

He picks his way around the rocks, slippery with water and algae, carefully maintain his balance. He comes to a small cliffside, where the rock and ground has been cut. On the lower ground, a hole is carved into the stone. The entrance is covered with black vines and plant matter. The voices are strongest, here. The darkness is beckoning him, closer. This is it.

Ben crouches down and crawls over the edge, carefully lowering himself over the edge. Once he's on his feet, he makes his way to the cave's entrance, kneeling at its edge, peering inside.

He'll have to jump. He peels off his boots, and his cloak, until he's standing in only his shirt and pants. He takes a breath, steels himself, and jumps.

His body hits the water, and oxygen leaves his lungs. The cold cuts straight to the bone, and he panics, shocked by the temperature and the length of the fall. Instinctively, he attempts to draw a breath, and inhales a lungfull of salt water. He coughs and splutters, disoriented in the darkness. He kicks, furiously, and breaks the surface. He coughs, drawing deep, gasping breaths, and paddles to the edge of the cave. Hands splayed on the stone, he hikes himself onto the cave's shore. There, he lies on his back, trying to catch his breath. He wipes the water from his eyes and peers into the darkness.

The mirror makes up an entire wall of the cave, opaque glass shimmering, almost celestial. It whispers, insistently, drawing him closer. Curiosity and want overwhelm every other emotion and shadow of doubt. Ben climbs to his feet, making his way toward the mirror. He stands before it, peering at the clouded surface.

He's never been good at resisting the dark side. He tried, for so long. But Snoke's comfort was a sweet syrup, soothing away the ache his parent's bickering, their disapproval, had caused. He's never been strong. He always sought the easy way out, the instant comfort that came with the shadows, the drug. Retreating to the dark's open arms is second nature to him, now.

For a while, he was better. Because Rey made him better, stronger. But she's gone, and he's stripped bare. There's nothing left for him, anyway. He's been used up and cast aside. His parents are dead. His Knights betrayed him. The First Order cast him out. And Rey is gone. There's no one left to care.

He steels himself, inhaling sharply, and spreads his fingers, touching the smooth, cool surface of the mirror. He feels trapped, caught in some strange third space, alone. The sound of his breath is distant and echoey, as if he's listening from the other end of a long tunnel. His heart crawls into his throat and hammers against his trachea, and sweat pools on his upper lip.

 _Show me,_ he asks, silently, echoing Rey's words. Ripples swirl over the surface of the mirror, and the image in the glass becomes clearer.

Ben watches, waiting, begging the Gods and the stars above for an end to all the not-knowing, an answer to all the questions without one.

He's staring at himself. Unchanged. He blinks, and the man, the monster, standing in the mirror blinks, too. He observes the scarred, gnarled face, the strands of dampened, black hair that clings to his face. It's just his reflection.

Disappointment rises like bile in his throat, coupled with anger.

"Show me the future." He demands, sharply. When the mirror's image doesn't change, he draws back a fist and slams it against the glass. Three of his knuckles split down the middle, and the sharp pain only fuels his rage. Scarlet bleeds into the edges of his vision. He strikes the mirror, again, but no cracks appear in the glass. His reflection only glares. It remains untouched, whole and clear, mocking him.

"Tell me what to do!" He screams, striking the glass, breath warm and thick and caught in his throat. Blood leaks from the cuts in his knuckles and trails down his wrist, pooling in the lines of his palm, smearing across the mirror's surface. He hits the mirror, again and again, until the pain and the wetness of his own blood coating his fingers is enough to break through the overwhelming storm of emotion threatening to tear him apart.

He slumps against the mirror, tears clouding his vision.

"Tell me . . ." He begs. "Please."

The adrenaline leaves him, cold and empty and terrified. His breaths come in short, shallow gasps. He presses his back against the mirror, burying his face in his hands, alone and lost and aching for  _someone_ , some comfort.

The minutes drag on and the sound of his breathing is punctuated only by the gentle lapping of the water against the cave's shore. Blood drips from his knuckles, falling on the stone floor of the cave. He shivers, drawing his knees close to his chest, and her name is on his lips, quivering and alive, like a bird preparing to take flight. He begs for answer, and there is none.

**_Rey_ **

Naboo looms outside the window. The planet's surface is green, dotted with little clumps of clouds. Rey stirs, waking from a fitful slumber, and rubs her eyes, peering at the fast-approaching planet. She unfurls, standing and stretching, trying to soothe the ache out of her muscles. But there's an internal ache, a deep, dull, throbbing pain in her chest, that doesn't cease.

She exits the Main hold and pauses in the doorway of the cockpit, debating whether she should say something, apologize. She snapped at him, and he means well. He cares about her, as a trusted comrade and a close friend. She cares for him, too, and the tension between them is alien and unpleasant, wearing on her nerves, making it hard to breathe.

She steels herself, and steps inside, sitting in the chair beside him. He doesn't acknowledge her presence. Rey sighs, fixing her gaze on Naboo's green landscape, trying to think of something to say. Her mind races, and she stares out the window, at loss for words.

"I'm sorry." Poe blurts, throwing a sideways glance in her direction. Rey looks at him, surprised.

"What're you sorry for?" She asks, incredulous. Poe shrugs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"For pressuring you to talk. For being a jerk. For . . . for everything." He sighs. "I trust you, Rey. I'm sure you've got a good explanation. There's always two sides to every story."

Somehow, his words only make her feel worse. She doesn't have an explanation. Not a good one, anyway. Ben kidnapped her, sure. And she didn't even know the Resistance survived the attack on Hoth. But . . .

But.

Some part of her knows that's not the whole truth. That she wanted to stay with Ben. That being with him, away from the war and the conflict and the uncertainty, she felt . . . free. As horrible as it sounds, some sick, twisted part of her hoped she'd never find the Resistance. That she wouldn't have anywhere to go. Forever the wanderer, she guesses. Maybe lost people aren't supposed to be found.

And there's so much she hasn't told Poe, nor Finn. Secrets that have been infesting her insides like parasites, weighing on her gut like stones. Secrets she's kept since their first conversation through the Force-bond. She and Ben converse through a mental link only they share. That Ben, of all people, warned her about the attack on Hoth. That he killed his master to save her. If she told them any of it, they'd probably toss her in the loony bin. They'd think she'd gone mad.

Poe stares at her, cocking an eyebrow, waiting for answer. She opens her mouth, closes it again, and drops her eyes to her hands, clasped in her lap.

"I'm sorry, too." She says. She's about to continue, when the radio hums to life and an unfamiliar voice greets Poe, giving him coordinates and landing instructions. Poe obeys with ease and efficiency, tapping commands into the control panel, guiding the Falcon through Naboo's inner sphere. They break through the sheet of fluffy, white clouds, and the planet's beauty steals the breath from Rey's lungs.

Rey leans over the control panel, struggling to capture an unobstructed view of the rolling, green hills and azure lakes. After spending the majority of her life living on a wasteland, she finds herself struggling to comprehend the beauty, the greenery. It's picturesque.

Poe guides the Falcon in a wide turn. The ship soars over the blue-capped buildings rising up from the green and blue. It's Theed, Naboo's capital city.

It's breathtaking. Located almost entirely on a large plateau, Theed is surrounded by waterfalls and vast forests. The city is sliced open by meandering, crystalline canals running parallel to the Palace Plaza.

The Falcon dips, lower, as Poe aims for the Spaceport on the outskirts of the city. He lands the ship without a hitch. A trio of Naboo officials await them, on the launchpad.

"Dameron." An official greets Poe with a smile, and marks something on his datapad. The port is alive and bustling with activity, and people rush to and from the ships, carting supplies and speaking into communicators. It seems everyone is mobilizing, preparing for war. Rey recognizes some familiar faces among them, and her chest feels lighter, swelling with something . . . something like hope.

"C'mon, this way." Poe says, touching her elbow. He guides her toward a staircase on the left, through a pair of double doors. Poe leads her through the city streets on foot, BB-8 trailing closely behind.

Rey admires the ornate buildings and statues. They walk past the marketplace near the city center, abuzz with activity. Rey watches the people, listening to the curious blend of languages and fragments of conversation. She picks apart energies, exploring with her mind and body. Poe makes small talk as they make their way down the street, pointing at a small, coffee shop on the corner.

"Caf is essential. D'Acy's taken up the unnerving habit of calling meetings at six o'clock in the morning. I know we're at war, here, but she can't expect me to blow up any dreadnaughts  _before_  I've had my morning coffee." Poe jokes, rolling his eyes. Rey laughs.

"We've got a hundred and thirty recruits, plus Arcturus' fleet." Rey cocks an eyebrow. The corners of Poe's mouth twitch into a half-smile. "About half of them show any sort of promising potential. A handful are ex-Stormtroopers. Finn's a trend-setter." Rey smiles. Poe looks at her, growing serious, and the grin disappears from his face.

"It's not mind-blowing. We're still out-numbered a thousand to one."

Rey squeezes his shoulder, reassuringly.

"It's a start."

The Royal Palace is the most beautiful structure Rey has ever seen. The buildings are exquisite, topped with tiled, blue roofs and adorned with large windows. Fronds and flowers whisper in the courtyards, and vines crawl up the buildings. Tall, expertly crafted statues stand like sentries in the Plaza, at the Palace entrance.

Poe takes the steps two at a time, marching through the large, front doors. He takes a left, leading her up a flight of stairs and down a long corridor. Rey follows, peering at the handsome architecture, the pristine arches and pillars. The ceiling is adorned with paintings, and the whole place is flawless, white marble.

Several people pass them in the corridors, nodding or giving them a polite word of greeting. Rey returns their smiles, smoothing the wrinkles in her cape, especially self-conscious. She notes the Palace residents' attire: intricate robes and gowns made of the finest materials, fine chains and precious jewels, and decorative headdresses.

"The Naboo were supportive of Leia and the New Republic. Leia's mother was their queen." Poe explains.

"Queen?" Rey asks, struggling to process the new information. Leia never talked about her mother.

Poe nods.

"C'mon, the General's in here."

To Rey's horror, Poe leads her straight into the throne room. Rey spots D'Acy at once, conversing with King Arcturus, the Monarch of Naboo. D'Acy smiles, warmly.

"Rey, I'm relieved. We've reunited at an opportune time." She says, patting her arm. "Commander Dameron's filled you in on our current situation, I trust? The Nubian Monarchy's agreed to lend us troops and ships. Their support is invaluable. Our alliance is steadfast."

Rey nods. "I'm glad."

"Rey!" A shiny, gold protocol droid exclaims, shuffling towards her.

"Good to see you, Threepio." Rey says, smiling at the droid. His lenses brighten. Beside him, Artoo rocks back and forth, whirring and chirping excitedly.

D'Acy cups Rey's elbow, leading her away from the droids, toward the throne. King Arcturus smiles, kindly.

"I'd like to formally welcome you to Naboo." He says. Rey smiles, bowing.

"Your Highness," Rey begins, but Arcturus waves his hand, chuckling.

"No need for such formalities, my dear."

Rey flushes. "King Arcturus, I'm thrilled you've agreed to aid our fight against the First Order. It's the first step to ensuring lasting peace in the galaxy."

"I don't doubt it. If we won't stand up and fight, who will?"

"My sentiments, exactly." Rey says, smiling.

"The Force moves strongly around you, my child. What's your name?"

"Rey." She says, dumbfounded. "You're a Force-user."

Arcturus laughs.

"I'm no Jedi. My abilities are limited, but I make do." He pauses. "The Jedi Order brought justice and compassion to a broken system. I feared that flame had long burnt out, but I see, now. I was wrong. I don't doubt you'll bring a spark to the fight."

Rey smiles, embarrassed.

"A meeting will be held to discuss battle strategies. Your attendance is requested. I suggest you get some rest." D'Acy says, touching her shoulder. Rey nods, bidding Arcturus goodbye, and follows Poe out of the throne room.

Poe saunters down a corridor, and Rey follows. He pauses outside a door, on the left, and tugs on the handle. He throws a a mischievous grin over his shoulder, stepping inside. Rey cocks an eyebrow.

"Hey, look what the Rancor dragged in!" Poe calls.

"Poe, enough of your . . ." The voice trails off, and Finn appears in the doorway. The communicator in his hand clatters to the floor. Poe dodges out of the way as Finn throws himself at Rey, a grin breaking over his face. She smiles, wrapping her arms around his middle.

"Finn." She breathes, holding on tighter.

"Where've you been, Rey?" He asks, huskily, and Rey realizes he's holding back tears. "We thought you were . . ." He trails off, holding her at arm's length, looking her up and down.

"Dead." Poe interjects. "Or worse, a First Order prisoner." He shoots her a pointed look—one that screams,  _you've got a lot of explaining to do._

Rey shakes her head, clutching Finn's hand. Her gaze flicks between the two of them, her best friends, and a hard lump presses on her throat. She sighs, heavily.

"Anyone fancy a drink?"

**_Ben_ **

He kneels on the cold, stone floor of the hut, holding his hands toward the fire. The flames lick his skin, and the heat cuts to the bone. The warmth spreads from his fingertips to the rest of his body. The gooseflesh crawling over his skin disappears, and the teeth-rattling, damp chill he'd caught after his dive into the depths of the mirror cave finally begins to ebb away.

He'd peeled away his sodden cape, socks, and shoes, leaving him bare-footed, wearing only his pants and a gray tunic. He retrieved the bedding from Luke's hut, figuring the old man won't miss it, anyway, and wrapped it around his shoulders. Now, he hovers over the fire, letting the warmth and light caress his skin and soothe away the cold and wet.

A light rain had begun to fall, outside. It plinks against the roof of the hut, providing a rhythmic soundtrack to the otherwise silent, lonely night. Though, it's never silent, here. The roar of the waves slamming against the cove and rocks is constant. And his thoughts slam up against the rocks, with them. Over and over. Thoughts of Rey. Thoughts of what was, what could've been.

He bites the inside of his cheek, reprimanding himself, ordering himself to keep his mind off her. But it's futile. Everything leads back to her.

He stares into the flames, feeling the coils of pain and longing tighten around his heart. For a moment, it's as if the Force-Bond flickers, once, and dies. For a split second he swears he sees her, standing on the opposite wall, peering at him. Her image sears itself into the backs of his eyelids. For a moment, the wind sounds like her voice.

And she's gone. And the hole in his chest is vast as an ocean.

He rouses himself, stretching his muscles, knowing to keep still and brooding is to tempt the inevitability of his destruction. Thinking of her will only tear him apart.

He reaches into the Force, drawing its energy around himself like a security blanket, putting up shields and walls to shut her out. It's a temporary bandage to a fatal wound, but it's better than nothing.

He nibbles on the contents of a ration pack, then retrieves the kettle he'd stolen from Luke's hut, fills it with rainwater, and sets it over the fire. He pours the hot water into a mug and drops a few mint leaves into it. He sips from the mug, savoring the warmth. The mint leaves settle his stomach and his nerves, but it does little else.

He longs for caf. Or liquor. A proper beverage, to numb the pain, to warm his body, his muscles. For now, this'll do.

As Ben sips from the mug, he mulls over the encounter with the mirror.

A disappointment. That's all. He came, looking for answers, and it showed him nothing but his own, scarred reflection. Yet, he can't help but feel himself drawn to it. It feels . . . familiar. Like an embrace, an old friend. It knows his mind, his heart, his intentions. It's whispering to him, urging him to reach into its depths, offering him a light at the end of the tunnel.

It'd given him nothing.

_What kind of mind-game . . ._

"Ben?"

He leaps to his feet, lightsaber in hand, heart thudding in his head. He strains his ears over the rainfall, the waves. It's the wind, playing tricks.

"Ben." Louder, this time. It's Rey, calling to him. He swallows, chest tightening. What's she doing here? He hesitates, a moment, warring with himself.

"Ben!" Rey screams, again, and there's a note of definite panic in her voice. Ben draws his lightsaber and ignites it, hurrying, barefoot, out the door.

The rain falls, harder, now. He whips around, trying to capture the direction of the voice.

"Ben!" She's distant. Water soaks Ben's hair and slips beneath his collar. His tunic clings to his skin, sopping wet. He jogs down the hill, careful to keep his footing on the slippery steps, following Rey's voice. It floats, on the wind, strangely distorted.

"Rey?" He calls, hoarsely, but his voice is carried away on the wind, drowned by the torrents of water, falling from the sky. He swipes a hand over his face, wiping the rain from his eyes, and grits his teeth against the storm, thoroughly irritated.

Gods, does the rain  _ever_ stop?

"Ben!" Rey screams, loudly. He freezes, turning this way and that. The voice isn't hers, at all. It's a strange, terrible chorus, rising from the cliffside.

_Ben . . ._

It's the Force, beckoning him. The voices blend together, entwining with the wind and rain.

Ben raises his lightsaber over his head, bathing the ground in red light.

The ground under his feet is scorched. Deep, black veins run through the soil, like a web. The grass is burned and crumbling into ash. Ben kneels, peering at the strange marks.

"Ben." A deeper, rougher voice emerges from the chorus. Ben climbs to his feet, raising the saber, warningly.

"Who's there?"

A blinding, blue light winks into existence, before him. Ben scrambles backward, drawing the lightsaber above his head.

" _You!_ " He hisses, unable and unwilling to believe his eyes. The ghost smiles, sadly.

"Nephew."


	11. The Siren Song

**_Rey_ **

"Let me get this straight . . ." Finn cries, in exasperation. He paces up and down the room, wringing his hands. The room is plush, a sort of lounge, decked with velvet tapestries and a roaring fire. Rey sips Corellian wine from a glass, perched on the arm of the sofa, watching Finn with annoyance. "This  _whole_  time, you were chumming with Kylo Ren?"

"It's not like that, Finn." She snaps, fiercely. "He saved me. If it weren't for him, I'd be dead. Or a prisoner of the First Order."

"That excuse isn't good enough." Finn grumbles. Rey rounds on him, hot, angry tears welling in her eyes.

"You'd rather have me buried in a pauper's grave, or in chains?" Rey says, damning the way her voice trembles as she speaks.

"I . . . I didn't mean . . ." Finn mumbles, guilty.

"I think you've made yourself perfectly clear." Rey snaps, and raises the glass to her lips, downing the wine in a single swallow. She regards Poe, fiercely.

"You're awfully quiet."

Poe gives her a hard look, running a hand over the stubble on his chin absentmindedly.

"Do you trust him?"

The question takes Rey by surprise. She forces herself to meet Poe's gaze, matching his intensity.

"Yes. I do."

"You can't be serious!" Finn yelps. "He was brainwashing you, Rey! You don't know him like I do. He's a monster."

"I know him well enough." Rey says, jumping to Ben's defense. "He's changed."

"I agree." Poe says, eyes narrowing. "He's using you against us."

"He's  _not_." Rey hisses, through gritted teeth.

"How can you be sure?" Poe asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"I just  _do._ "

"That's not an answer."

Rey clenches her fists, frustrated.

"Do I have to have a reason?"

A dark look crosses Poe's face.

"Uh, might be helpful."

Rey combs a hand through her hair, a blush creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks. It's dumb. But she can't tell them the truth.

"I trust him." Rey whispers. "If you trust me, you'll trust him, too."

"I watched him burn an entire village to the ground, Rey. I've seen thousands, slaughtered at his hands. I can't trust that man. I'm sorry." Finn says, shaking his head.

Rey reaches for the bottle, pouring herself another glass of wine. She expected this. If the tables were turned, if she didn't share a Force bond with Ben, if she didn't know his soul, his entire being, like the back of her own hand, well,  _I wouldn't trust me, either._

"No one's ever really gone." Rey says, looking at them. "That's what Luke used to say." She sighs, gaze dropping to her lap. "Ben killed Snoke for me. And the night Leia died . . . he kept me alive. He stopped the bleeding, and . . ." Rey trails off, guilt and grief constricting around her chest like a vice, making it hard to breathe. "There's no forgiving what he's done. But Luke's right. He isn't really gone."

"He killed  _Snoke_ , for you?" Finn asks, dubiously. Rey nods, slowly, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be alone. She's tired of their questions and incredulity. Something in her face must show it, because Poe's expression softens. He takes her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Poe takes her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I don't trust that son-of-a-bitch, but I trust you." Poe says. Rey laughs, softly. Finn puts an arm around her shoulders.

"We're with you, Rey. Whatever you need, we're with you."

Rey's eyes fill with tears. Finn takes her other hand, and she squeezes her eyes shut, relief washing over her. She doesn't deserve them.

But they're with her, to the end. This, she's certain of.

**_Ben_ **

Luke gazes at him. "It's been a long time."

"I've nothing to say to you!" Ben snaps, hands tightening around the hilt of his lightsaber. His hands tremble, and he struggles to keep his surface impassive and unreadable. Anger flares in his chest, a deep-rooted, eternal flame.

"If you've come to forgive me, it's too late." Ben growls, deactivating his lightsaber. He turns on his heel and stomps away, willing Luke's ghost away.

"Ben, stop."

Ben's pace only quickens. His feet slip in the mud as he flees the scorched hillside, away from his uncle's ghost, away from the past. A past that never ceases to haunt him, no matter his efforts to eradicate it. Scars never heal, or so they say.

"Stop!"

The Force seizes hold of him, pinning his arms to his sides, locking his feet in place. He bellows, wordlessly, fighting against his uncle's grasp, to no avail. His efforts do nothing but exhaust him. He relents, panting. The torrents of water batter against his body, cutting him to the bone, and the wind rips against his clothes like a clawed beast. Luke appears, before him. The blue, celestial light surrounding him is striking in the darkness. Ben blinks, eyes adjusting to the light.

"I've come to say I'm sorry, Ben." Luke says. "While we're not pointing lightsabers at each other, I'll say it. And I mean it, Ben. I'm sorry, for everything."

"I don't want your apologies! I don't want your pity!" He bellows, panicked and helpless and blind, in the storm. The Force thrums in his body like a second heartbeat, loud in his ears, drowning out the crashing waves and pounding rain.

"I don't care." Luke says, matter-of-factly. "I don't care what you want, Ben. I've things to say, and I expect you to listen."

"I'm not listening to  _anything_  you have to say, old man." Ben spits, venomously. In truth, Luke's ghost is quite young. His eyes, once dull and listless, are bright, almost merry. He seems happier, more peaceful, than he ever was in life.

"You will." Luke says, brightly. "What else is there to do, on this miserable rock? I know, I've firsthand experience. It's a dull place. Lonely."

His chest feels like it's writhing with snakes, coiling tighter and tighter. He feels like he's about to burst, and the Force's voice in his ear is like a siren song.

"I'm here to talk." Luke continues, clasping his hands. "About Rey."

It's a slap in the face. Her name, spoken aloud. Her name, on his tongue. Ben bares his teeth, like a wild animal, eyes flashing.

"Go away."

"You can't run from your past, Ben. No more than you can run from your future."

"I can run from you."

"Not forever."

Ben growls, cursing.

"Release me!" He commands, trying to keep the terror from his voice. Luke's presence weighs on his soul, widening the cracks, opening the wounds.

"What happens, when we die?" Luke inquires.

"No idea."

"We become one with the Force, Ben. And we learn many things. Far more than we could ever learn in life. I've seen the past, Ben. I've seen the future."

"Great." Ben drawls. "Enlighten me."

Luke regards him, thoughtfully.

"There's light in you, still."

"The light's given me  _nothing_." Ben growls. "I want to be free of this. I want to be free of  _you_."

"You're wrong. The light's given you a chance." Luke says, gently.

"You know nothing, old man."

"You came seeking answers, Ben."

"I don't need answers from  _you_."

"Your path doesn't lie in the darkness. It lies in the light. You're scared. You're running. You've scars that'll never heal. But you can end this pain, Ben. I didn't have enough faith in you, and for that, I am sorry. I saw darkness inside you. I made a mistake. I thought your choice was made when it wasn't. I see that, now." Luke pauses, a beat. "Rey helped me see it."

"Leave her out of this." Ben growls. Luke presses on.

"You've got a second chance. You can turn, Ben. The light's waiting for you. It's always been there, waiting."

"You think it's that easy?" Ben spits. "I turn to the light, and the other half of me lusts for the darkness. I've blood on my hands I can't wash off.  _Thousands_ have died, by my hand. I cannot be forgiven. Nothing will take this pain away. Nothing. I've tried. I thought it would be different. I followed Snoke. I killed Han Solo. And nothing's changed. There's no place for me. Not in the dark. Not in the light. Nothing can be done. Nothing is e _asy_."

"You're right." Luke says. "Nothing is easy. But that doesn't mean that nothing is  _right_."

"It's a choice, Ben. It's a choice you can make."

Ben scoffs.

"What then? Crawl back to the Resistance? Beg for forgiveness? I'd sooner die."

"Build a new order. You said so, yourself. That's the only way to restore peace to the galaxy. I've seen it. It can be done. But you can't go about it alone."

Rey. Ben bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. Grief and longing settle in his core, tearing at his innards with cold, unrelenting ferocity.

"She left." He says, tremulously. "She doesn't care for me. She doesn't want me."

Luke smiles, soft and sad.

"You're wrong."

**_Rey_ **

The rooms in the Royal Palace are luxurious beyond anything Rey's experienced. The four-poster bed is soft and piled with pillows and warm blankets woven from the finest fabrics. The windows are large, overlooking the courtyard and the gardens, below. A refresher is just a few steps away, through the door on the left. It's spacious, with colorful, tiled flooring.

Rey's fascinated with the bath, large and deep, complete with running taps of hot and cold water. Soaps and scents of various kinds stand at attention along the rim of the tub, which is lit with by underwater lights of shifting colors, giving the steamy, bubbly water an eerie glow.

Most of the Resistance occupy other, less luxurious barracks a few blocks from the Palace, nearer to the port. Arcturus, however, considers Rey a "special guest", and insists she stay in the palace. The other commanders have been given similar treatment. Poe and Finn are staying in rooms just down the hall. Another plus.

She emerges from the refresher with a towel wrapped loosely around her body, warm and sleepy and full of wine. She dresses in a soft, cotton shirt and pants that reach her mid-calf—sleeping garments gifted to her by the Nubian Monarchy.

It's late. She and Poe and Finn conversed for hours, drinking not one bottle of wine, but two. Once they'd exhausted the topic of her sojourn with Ben, the conversation shifted, much to Rey's relief. Poe and Finn filled her in on the Resistance's whereabouts.

They made it off Hoth, managed to avoid the First Order's air assault. Naboo answered their plea for help. Arcturus urged D'Acy and the remaining Resistance survivors to keep a low profile, abstaining from advertising the alliance with the rest of the galaxy. At least, until the First Order lost interest.

It explains a lot. Particularly, why Rey couldn't get a signal from them, why she hadn't heard so much as a whisper of their whereabouts. It seems, their secret is safe. For the time being. But Poe's growing restless. D'Acy and Arcturus meet several times during the week, devising battle strategies. War is coming. They can't avoid it, forever.

Poe managed to salvage the  _Falcon_.

"She's good as new, Rey." Poe informed her, happily. "She hasn't had a good run in years. Han's rolling in his grave. It's time you took her for a spin."

Rey smiles, despite herself. The thought of flying, drifting among the stars without a care, is enough to soothe her nerves. All that black, all those burning suns, and nothing but the Force, holding it all together. Nothing to worry about. Nothing behind, nothing ahead. Just vast, deep, uncharted space. She'd like that. Exploring, flying.

Freedom.

Rey crawls into bed, hair sopping, burying herself under the sheets like a desert creature in its hole. Like she'd done so many times during dust storms on Jakku. She makes a little tunnel, letting oxygen into her makeshift burrow, and draws her arms around herself. She listens to the rhythm of her own breath, cocooned in darkness and warmth. She drifts off, into a fitful sleep full of dreams and distant voices and the sound of waves, crashing along a rocky shore.

Per Poe's warning, Rey's rude awakening comes in the small hours of the morning, before the sun has risen over the blue-capped buildings in the Plaza. She stirs to a gentle rapping on her door, and the sound breaks into her dreams.

_She's in the cabin, standing in the cramped bathroom, at the end of the hall. She runs water from the sink, letting the sound conceal her labored, panicked sniffles. She sits on the toilet seat, trying to soothe her pounding heart. There's rapping at the door, quick and sharp. Rey swipes a hand over her face, hastily wiping away the tears._

_"Come in." She croaks. The door opens, and Ben stands in the doorway, a hulking shadow. He shifts his weight, awkwardly, swinging his arms._

_She tries and fails to mold her face into an emotionless mask, but it's futile. She can't lie to him. She can't hide from him. Such is the truth when one shares a mysterious, Force-manifested bond with another._

_"You're upset." He says._

_Rey tips her chin down, staring at her hands, clasped in her lap. He shuffles into the bathroom, moving slowly, gingerly. As one would approach a wounded animal. He pauses, opens his mouth, closes it again._

_"It was just a nightmare." She explains, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'm fine." Ben nods, slowly, and something that can only be a mixture of sympathy and understanding floats across the bond._

_Ben pauses, then kneels, bringing himself to her eyelevel. He blows out a slow, heavy breath, eyes locked on hers. Slowly, he holds out his hand, mirroring her gesture in the hut, on Ahch-To. Rey holds out her own hand, and her gaze never leaves his face. His hand brushes her palm, and her fingers close, filling the empty spaces between his own. She shivers, at the touch. So simple, seemingly insignificant. Yet, so much more._

The rapping comes again, louder, and Rey wakes with a jolt.

"Rey, wake up! D'Acy expects us in the command center in fifteen minutes."

"I'll be a moment." Rey calls, groggily. She pushes herself upright, clenching her hand into a fist. Where Ben's fingers entwined with hers, there's nothing. She flexes her fingers, bewildered, because she can still feel him, as if he's there, in the room with her, enfolding her hand in his own. Of course, he's not. It's a residual flesh-memory, from the dream. The nightmare. Whatever.

Rey presses her palms over her eyelids, willing the hot, itchy sleepiness from them. She disentangles herself from the blankets, stomping into the bathroom to relieve herself and retrieve her clothes from the floor, where she left them the night before.

Curiously, her clothes have been washed and neatly folded over the rim of the tub. She didn't hear anyone come in. She takes the clothes in her hands, pressing them to her nose. She inhales, detecting the faint scent of flowery laundry detergent. Yes, definitely washed. Rey dresses, quickly, throwing her hair in a sloppy knot on the top of her head, and makes her way down the stairs.

The Palace is vast, comprised of many, twisting corridors. Rey makes a wrong turn and ends up in a lower level. She wanders for ten minutes before a droid crosses her path.

"Excuse me, could you direct me to the command center?" She asks. The droid sends her back the way she came, and Rey sprints off, panicked and frustrated, knowing she's likely  _very_ late by now.

She bursts through the door in a fluster, attracting stares from the entirety of the attendees—the Resistance's leadership, and some important-looking Nubian generals. She smiles, apologetically.

"Rey, please sit." D'Acy says, huffily. Rey ducks her head, taking a seat beside Finn at the large, rectangular table. She glances around the table, scanning for faces she recognizes. Poe winks, from across the table, tipping his caf mug in her direction.

There's about twenty people seated around. The table is laden with maps and sketches and battle plans. Several holograms glow above the table, displaying a detailed star map and several, smaller diagrams of ships and weaponry. Rey recognizes the First Order's dreadnaught design, and plans for rebuilding the  _Supremacy_ —the flagship Admiral Holdo all but destroyed when she jumped the  _Raddus_  straight through it.

Rey was inside, when it happened. She felt the blast. At the time, she thought it was the force of Luke's lightsaber, as it shattered under the combined stress of her and Ben's opposing wills, acting upon it. The scarlet walls of Snoke's throne room lit up a brilliant white, and she felt herself falling. Then nothing. Then Ben, lying just inches from her, cheek pressed into the black, marble floor.

Rey forces her attention to the conversation at the table, as the commanders strategize and form the beginnings of a battle plan. The talk is much too alien and complex for her to comprehend. She's not a strategist. This isn't her forte. She's lucky, because no one so much as glances in her direction. She's allowed to sink into her chair and pick at a loose thread in her sleeve, listening to Poe argue elaborate battle plans, complete with a couple thousand tons of pyrotechnics and a second kamikaze jump to lightspeed. D'Acy counters each of his suggestions in its nascent stages. He's frustrated but undiscouraged, strategizing animatedly, chewing out battle plans she couldn't have possibly dreamed up.

Someone brings caf for the whole table, and Rey accepts a mug, gratefully, letting the warmth seep into her body and liven her mind. She forces herself to sit up straighter, pay attention, knowing she's supposed to be a respected, beneficial member of the team. She may as well look the part.

"Rey, we'd like to hear your thoughts."

She lifts her head, startled out of a daydream.

Finn nudges her with his elbow. Rey sits up, eyes sweeping the collection of faces—familiar and new—peering at her from all directions. She coughs, finding her words caught in a jumble in her throat.

"I, uh . . . I think . . ." She trails off, closing her eyes, gathering her bearings. Poe nods, encouragingly.

"The First Order's leadership is disjointed and unorganized. Armitage Hux, their leader, is good with technical issues, but he's overconfident. He's a fool." Rey says. "Snoke united the First Order with fear. It made him dangerous. But no one fears Hux."

"What of Kylo Ren? Some say he defected." A man inquires, cocking an eyebrow. Rey swallows, unable to look at Poe, nor Finn.

"He's not a threat." Rey says, evasively.

"How can you be so sure?" The man replies, eyes narrowed.

Rey's gaze fixes on his face.

"He's dead."

**_Ben_ **

Ben wakes with a jolt, muscles seizing up. He sits up, fingernails digging into the soft, damp mud. He glances around, trying to gather his bearings. He's on a grassy hillside, overlooking the sea. It's late morning, by the sun's location. The sky is clear and blue, and there's no sign of last night's violent storm, save for a few, sparse puddles. Ben smells the rainwater saturated into the soil, the grass. He blinks, flexing his stiff muscles, and struggles to his feet.

He remembers Luke's ghost. The man, bathed in blue light, had disappeared without so much as a goodbye. Ben fell to his knees, released from Luke's influence. He remembers a flash of white, as lightning sliced across the sky. He remembers the rain's ceaseless barrage, pelting his body. He remembers the energy draining from him like lifeblood. He remembers falling, down a long, dark tunnel without end.

And nothing, at all.

His eyes sweep the hillside, taking inventory of his location, trying to fill in the blanks in his memory. He notices the dark, black web of scorch marks in the grass. He must've fallen unconscious, here. After Luke vanished. After the fool told him nothing but things he'd already known.

The choice, it's his. Build a new Order. Build a new life.

With her.

He laughs, aloud. It's a cruel sound.

_She doesn't want me. She's made that perfectly clear._

And there's nothing to do, now. Nothing to do but sit on this rock, perpetually rain-soaked and miserable, living off dehydrated ration packs and mint tea, his only company a cursed mirror, a ghost, and the voices inside his eyes.

Maybe he'd make small talk with the fish people.

Ben decides to return to the huts, following the demands of his growling stomach, more than anything. He retraces his steps, to the best of his memory, and eventually makes it to the cobblestone steps leading to the huts. The caretakers are nowhere in sight. He sneaks into his hut unnoticed. There, he builds up a small fire and sets the kettle over it. He strips off his clothes, down to his undergarments, and lays them beside the fire to dry. He shrugs a blanket around his shoulders and huddles under it, unwrapping a ration pack. He devours it without pause, forcing it down his throat without lingering over the taste. His objective is nourishment, not a culinary masterpiece.

He debates attempting to catch fish, in the ocean, and decides against it. Who knows what dwells in the depths of that violent entity? These ration packs won't last forever, though. He suspects, someday, he'll have to risk it. That is, if he stays.

His stay hasn't exactly been an incredible success. He came looking for answers. He got a set of split knuckles and a family reunion that wasn't particularly pretty. He has no reason to stay.

And, yet . .

Yet.

Something about the island . . . it's keeping him here. In the same way flame enraptures a pyromaniac. He's setting his fires. Someday, they'll destroy him.

He returns to the cave.

He dives in without hesitation, this time, bracing himself against the water's icy bite. Hiking himself onto the bank, he approaches the mirror, wiping the sea water from his eyes. He pauses, standing still, peering into the glass. He runs his hand over the surface, not speaking. The mirror's surface moves under his fingers like quicksilver. He waits. A beat. Two.

He sighs, heavily, and settles himself cross-legged on the floor of the cave, staring at his reflection.

The Force hums, and Luke's ghost places a hand on his reflection's shoulder, within the mirror. Ben starts, jumping to his feet. But there's nothing. Nothing but the sheer walls of the cave and the water lapping at the rocky bank. Slowly, he turns back to the mirror. Luke's reflection gives him that same, sad, withering smile.

"This mirror holds no more wisdom than you, yourself, possess. Ben," Luke pleads. "You're wasting your time."

"Go away, old man."

"It's your choice, Ben. Yours, and yours alone."

With that, he's gone. The cloudy surface ripples and falls still, and there's only Ben.

**_Rey_ **

A ripple of shock filters through the command. Rey can feel Poe's eyes on her, forces herself to avoid his gaze. If she catches his eye, the façade will crumble. She knows this is dangerous. Risky. Stupid. But there's no taking it back, now. If it works, she's got a shot at gaining back their trust. It's the only way she can keep him safe.

"I killed him." She says, pressing on. "He kidnapped me, during the assault on Echo Base. I killed him." Whispers, muttering. Rey straightens, taking a breath. "I assure you, he's dead."

"Why hasn't news of his death reached us, thusfar?" A grizzled, old man asks, from his seat at the other end of the table. Rey opens her mouth, floundering.

"Do you really think the First Order would actively publicize the loss of its greatest asset?" Poe interjects. "Kylo Ren was a puppet. An instrument of fear, for the Order. If the news spreads, that Kylo Ren was killed by one of our own, the last Jedi, no less . . ." He shakes his head. "They'd suffer blows, surely."

D'Acy raises a hand.

"Kylo Ren is dead. And the First Order is vulnerable." She says. "The time to strike is now."

"We'll need help. Munitions, support . . ." Rey says. "Allies."

D'Acy holds Rey's gaze, lips twitching into a smile.

"That's where you come in."

Plans are well underway when Rey's called to the command center for a "briefing". Her attendance is rarely required at the meetings, now, and she's left to keep herself occupied. A day passes, a week. She spends her days with Finn, in the gymnasium, training with the new recruits.

She keeps herself fit and strong, practicing her forms. She puts her lightsaber through it's paces, marveling at its grace. It's as if the weapon knows what she's thinking. It reacts at the slightest touch, and its energy vibrates in her very core. She swings it, sparring with droids and dummies, and the double blades slice through metal as if it were wet tissue paper, leaving a mess of melted alloy and severed wires.

Rey meditates, though doing so is only a painful reminder of the hole Ben left behind. She feels him, sometimes. Like a phantom limb. There, a moment. Gone, the next. She wakes up, screaming, from nightmares that aren't her own. She tries to forget. She tries to move on.

But it's impossible.

Finn's working on ship repairs, in the port. Rey knows he's with Rose, and doesn't accompany him, giving them space. Instead, she ventures to the Plaza, picking her way through the gardens and the marketplace, nothing on her mind but the desire to escape, for a few hours. The Nubian Palace, once a luxury, has become a prison. She's suffocating, drowning in silk sheets, evading curious gazes and prying questions. The Resistance is small, and news travels fast. When the last Jedi disappears for weeks, only to return, without explanation, it tends to send ripples through the grapevine. She's heard the rumors. She tries to ignore them.

She keeps a hand resting on her saber. The marketplace, as always, is bustling with activity. Children play in the streets, fighting with toy blasters.

Rey crosses to the other side of the street, peering at shops and wares. A sleek, silver ship hums overhead as it soars over the city. Rey's eyes follow its path.

The comm on her wrist beeps.

"Rey, you're needed in the command center." Poe's voice filters through. "Now."

"On my way."

Poe's waiting, in command, when she arrives. D'Acy attends, as well, stooping over a hand-drawn map. The older woman looks up as Rey enters, and her face shifts into a wary smile.

"You wanted to see me?" Rey asks.

"Yes. Come, sit." She offers, and Poe pulls up another chair. It's just the two of them. Rey takes a seat, folding her hands in her lap.

"There is much to discuss." D'Acy begins. "To launch an effective attack, we need support. The Nubian monarchy has offered half its fleet to the cause. That's something, but it's not enough. If we want allies, we'll need to align ourselves with some of the systems with opposition to the First Order. Preferably, worlds with adequate resources and aid."

"We already tried that." Rey says, shaking her head. "It didn't work. No one's willing to help."

"You were refused by a few worlds, but there's billions in the galaxy. Our circumstances are quite different. We've got the Nubian Monarchy backing us. Other systems will surely follow. A large number, I suspect, are willing to help. If we go about it in the right way. That's your job."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand.

"We're suggesting a series of propaganda broadcasts, distributed across the HoloNet." Poe interjects. "The galaxy needs a symbol. Something to stand behind, to fight for. Who better, than the last Jedi, herself?"

It begins to dawn on her. They want her to play the part. The hero. The martyr. The Jedi. This is what Luke was, to the Resistance. This is what Leia wanted her to be. This is what she is not.

"No." Rey says, shaking her head. "I'm not a Jedi."

It's true. She feels too much. Too much hate, too much anger. Ben brought it out in her, and she's not sure she can ever go back to the way things were.

Powerful light, powerful dark. That's what it used to be. But the line is blurred, now. And it's not so much two sides of a coin as it is a smear of blended colors—it's impossible to pick one from the other, because they co-exist inside her. And Rey thinks she knows what Ben meant. The light and dark are there, tearing her apart.

"You've got the lightsaber, and the robes. You certainly look the part." Poe says, with a grin.

"It's slightly more complicated than that." Rey retorts. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this. I'm a Nobody."

"People will listen to you, Rey. People will follow you."

"No, they won't." Rey cries, furiously. "I can't . . ."

"We're the spark. We'll restore peace to galaxy." D'acy says. "But we can't do that without your help." D'acy takes Rey's hands in her own. Rey swallows, hard. D'acy smiles. "You can, Rey. You will."

Rey dresses in a long, gray cloak. A Nubian woman with long, dark tresses and a round, pale face raps on her door and steps inside. She plaits Rey's hair, applies makeup, painting her face in a spectrum of colors. Her eyes are framed in black, her cheeks are pink, her lips bright red. The woman steps back, admiring her handiwork, and leaves without a word.

Rey touches her hair, absently, trying to calm the storm of nerves eating her from the inside. She goes to the command center, where D'Acy, Poe, Lieutenant Connix, and a pair of Nubian Generals await her.

Poe catches her elbow, tugging her across the room. He tells her to stand on a strip of adhesive they've marked on the floor. Rey obeys, shifting her weight, drumming an irregular pattern over the hilt of her lightsaber with her knuckles. BB-8 rolls in wide, lazy circles around her feet, awaiting instructions. Lieutenant Connix hurries over and ties an armband, stamped with a bold, red Rebel Alliance crest, around her bicep. Connix gives Rey a friendly smile—one she returns, wholeheartedly.

"You really think this is going to work?" Rey asks her.

"I think it's the best shot we've got." She says. "And I think people need something to fight for."

"I don't want people fighting for me." Rey says, softly. "I don't want people dying for me."

"They won't be fighting for you." Connix says. "They'll be fighting for a galaxy where millions of innocent people don't die at the hands of a fool with a couple thousand star destroyers at his disposal. Where people don't suffer and starve so General Hux can wipe his ass with their homeworlds. They're fighting for hope. If you ask me, that's the only thing worth fighting for."

Rey falls silent, watching Connix as she finishes tying the armband, letting the words sink in.

"Alright, Rey. Ready?" Poe asks, appearing at her side. Connix retreats, moving to stand beside D'Acy. Rey looks at Poe, sheepish.

"As I'll ever be."

"Bebe, you know what to do." Poe says, nodding towards the droid. BB-8 chirps, affirmatively. He turns his camera to face Rey, quivering with anticipation.

"Ready when you are, Rey." Poe says, prompting her with an encouraging nod.

Rey gazes into BB-8's lenses, feeling the heat of several eyes on her, the sweat beading on her forehead. She squares her shoulders, pushing air through her nose, and opens her mouth to speak.

It's been three hours.

Three hours, since the message broadcasted across the HoloNet. Since the Resistance revealed its alliance with Naboo, and asked others to join ranks against the First Order. Since Rey stood in front of the entirety of the galaxy and declared herself the last Jedi.

She sits in the chair at the command center's large table, still and stoic, hands clasped in her lap. Her muscles are rigid and unyielding, but her thoughts chase petulant circles, yammering and beating against her skull, plaguing her with the possibilities: all the ways this could go right, all the ways it could go wrong.

Poe brought her Caf. The mug sits on the table before her, untouched, the heat long since drained from it. She presses her lips into a thin line, attempting to mediate, to think of  _anything_  but the outcome of this enormous step.

It's a risk.  _It's a mistake._  The First Order's likely on their way right now, armed and ready to wipe them out, for good. What's stopping them? Their alliance with the Nubian Monarchy is public knowledge, now. She's surprised Arcturus agreed to such a thing. Does he realize the enormity of the situation? Does he realize he's putting his people in danger?It's the equivalent of shooting firecrackers in the air, shouting " _Here I am! Come get me!"_

She knows D'Acy's got a few tricks up her sleeve—tricks she's neglected to share with anyone but King Arcturus, and, possibly, Poe. But Rey would never expect her to agree to something so risky. D'Acy has always struck Rey as someone concerned with self-preservation, more than anything. It'd benefitted them up to this point, and the general's sudden change in trajectory is anything but expected.

Rey takes deep, steadying breaths, trying to keep faith with D'Acy, recalling Connix' words.

_They're fighting for hope. If you ask me, that's the only thing worth fighting for._

Well, Rey supposes she'd rather die fighting than rot hiding. She'd rather go down in flames, alongside her friends, than alone in the Jakku desert. She shudders, at the thought.  _Where would I be, if I hadn't found Finn? If I hadn't found BB-8?_

On Jakku, she'd grow old and sickly, her skin wrinkled like the pages of the old Jedi Texts. Would she collapse, somewhere, overcome by heat and exhaustion, without the strength or will to live? Would her body be left, picked clean by birds and desert creatures, until only the white bones were left, bleached by the sun?

That's no longer her truth. This is her truth. Will she hide? Will she run? Or will she choose to fight, with tooth and nail, until blood runs from her like rivers to the ocean. Until those monsters in the dark rip the last breath from her lungs.

Yes, she'll fight. She'll fight, for her friends. For Luke and Leia and a galaxy without famine, without suffering. Without ignorance and bigotry and injustice. If nothing else, she'll fight for hope.

Because hope's the only thing worth fighting for.

Rey grips the arms of the chair, pushing herself up. She stretches her stiff, aching muscles, making for the door. She's reaching for the knob when the door flies open, and she finds herself face to face with Poe.

He freezes, gaze flicking over her face. His eyes are manic, alight with something like panic, excitement.

"What is it?" Rey asks, fearing she already knows the answer. Poe's mouth forms a grotesque grin, teeth flashing white. Bleached bones, in the sun.

"We've got company."

On screen, several bright lights blink in the space surrounding a strip of blue, indicating Naboo's atmosphere. Rey peers at the lights, apprehension and awe coursing through her core like a roiling sea.

The First Order's fleet circles overhead like a flock of scavenging birds, closing in on a carcass. Their fleet's firepower and prowess outmatch the Resistance's resources in every aspect. Their ships are primed, sleek, and equipped with the latest tech.

When Admiral Holdo jumped the  _Raddus_  straight through the  _Supremacy_ , several of the First Order's other, smaller ships were obliterated, too. The arrangement of their ships, a tight-knit, V-formation—a good strategy, under different circumstances—caused a disadvantage that could've been avoided if the ships had spread out. It's clear the First Order's trying to avoid repeating that mistake. The fleet is distributed in a loose, circular formation, with the largest—their flagship—hovering at it's heart.

Rey taps a collection of smaller, blue lights growing steadily closer to Naboo and the First Order fleet, lying in wait.

"What's that?"

Poe squints at the star map.

"Bespin's fleet. Arcturus is well-respected across many systems. Chandrila, Bespin, Yavin, and Kasma agreed to take up arms against the First Order at his request. They're willing to back us, whatever happens."

Rey's eyebrows shoot up. She stares at him, dumbfounded.

"What? I didn't think . . ." She trails off.

"D'Acy insisted I keep most of our alliances a secret, for their safety, and ours. The less information got out, the better." Poe says.

"I don't understand . . . that message . . . I thought you wanted allies." Rey stammers. "We already have them."

"The propaganda was a ploy. We couldn't risk sending messages for fear they'd be intercepted. We used your recording to alert our allies of the time and place for the attack. At the same time, we drew the First Order straight into a trap."

Rey falls silent, puzzling over the implications.

"What about civilians?"

"Arcturus is initiating an evacuation as we speak. This plan isn't spontaneous. We're prepared." Poe says, touching her shoulder. "Chandrila's fleet is en route. Bespin and Yavin are orbiting the inner sphere, awaiting word. Our pilots are suiting up. We're doing this."

Rey's fingers tighten around the datapad.

They're really doing this. Fighting the First Order, with several, powerful fleets backing them. The plan is working. They're ready. They'll fight for hope, and they'll die with honor.

Rey meets his eyes, shiny with the light from the screen, in her hands. She sees her own resolve, her excitement, reflected in them. She smiles.

"We're doing this."

"This is insane." Finn says. He's kneeling, retrieving various tools, handing them to Rose. She lies, sprawled under the belly of an X-Wing fighter, making repairs. All around them, pilots are rushing around, donning their orange jumpsuits, yelling into commlinks on their wrists.

It's been an hour since the First Order's fleet arrived. The civilian evacuation is complete. The first wave of Resistance fighters has already plunged into the fray.

"Insane or not, today's the day. Poe's waiting for us, on the  _Challenger_." Rey says. The  _Challenger_ is a large, MC85 star cruiser. It resembles the  _Raddus_  in size and semblance.

They can't afford to stay on Naboo much longer. They'll be obliterated like sitting ducks, down here.

Rey squints out the window of the port, at the twilit sky, where she can see flashes of red and green at the edge of the atmosphere. Her commlink pings. The last transport departs in five minutes.

Rose extracts herself from under the X-wing and swipes a hand over her face, wiping away the sweat and grime.

"Fuel's full, engines primed. She's ready to go." Rose says, proudly, patting the X-wing's exterior. Vera Knossos, a tall, dark-skinned woman, smiles gratefully, jamming her helmet onto her head. She climbs into the fighter, shooting Rose a thumbs-up. The engines hum to life, and Vera urges the craft into the air. It rockets out of the port, joining the tight formation of other X-wing fighters as they speed off, into the atmosphere—the second wave.

"We've got to hurry." Rey says, remembering herself. The trio make their way to the transport. Rey straps in, elbows prodding and poking Finn as he squeezes in the seat between her and Rose. Lieutenant Connix boards, breathless and red-faced, trailed by C-3PO.

"This is it. We're the last one." She says, gazing at the datapad in her hands, nodding. "That's our que. It's time."

The transport shudders and rises from the ground. Rey's gut squirms, and she grips Finn's wrist, briefly, peering out the window.

Their allied fleets are arranged in a large circle, surrounding the First Order. Naboo's sleek, silver starfighters are hovering on the outskirts of the battle. Bespin and Chandrila's ships bomb a trio of dreadnaughts just beyond the stretch of space where the Resistance pilots are facing off against the First Order's TIE fighters.

"This is insane." Finn says, again. Rey's grip on him tightens. "This is completely, utterly insane."

"Finn." Rey says, softly. "It'll be alright."

"What if it isn't, Rey? What if everything goes wrong? What if we lose?"

Rey meets his eyes, wild with fear. She puts a hand over his chest, fingers spread out, feeling the beat of his heart—steady and strong—against her palm.

"Then we fought until the end." She says. "Together."

"I've got a bad feeling about this!" Threepio exclaims. "I fear we're hopelessly outmatched. The odds of surviving this attack are, according to my calculations, approximately six-thousand, five-hundred and thirty-three to—"

"Threepio, shut up!" Rose snaps. C-3PO's head swivels, lenses brightening in indignation.

"Oh, dear!"

The journey from the port to the  _Challenger_ lasts less than ten minutes. Soon, they're docking, and Rey fumbles with her seatbelt.

They follow Lieutenant Connix to the bridge, where D'Acy and Poe await them.

D'acy sighs, relieved.

"Rose and Finn, you're needed in the hangar. We've gotta get the rest of our fighters prepped and fueled."

"I'm on it." Rose says, and hurries off, Finn in tow. Poe turns to D'Acy.

"It's getting ugly, out there. I'm more use to you in a cockpit than I am on the bridge. You know that."

"You're dismissed." D'Acy says, nodding. Rey makes to follow him, but D'Acy stops her.

"Rey, I can't risk your life, out there. It's too dangerous, and you're too valuable an asset."

Rey cocks an eyebrow, miffed. She's a capable pilot. She'd much rather be picking off TIEs than biding her time on the bridge.

"I'm no more valuable than Poe. Or Finn. Or Rose. I can't sit here and do nothing while my friends risk their lives, out there. I'm willing to fight and die for the Rebellion, just as much as anyone." Rey says, incredulous.

"I'm aware of your capabilities, and your willingness. I cannot, however, risk losing the last Jedi in a dogfight." D'Acy says.

Rey's eyes narrow, and a flare of anger ignites in her chest. She fights to keep her voice steady, holding D'Acy's gaze.

"Put me in an X-wing, or the  _Falcon_. Let me  _do_ something."

"You're not to participate in this attack. That's an order."

Rey opens her mouth, ready to argue, but D'Acy's glare silences her.

"Stay on the bridge, wait for instructions."

Rey closes her mouth, defeated. D'Acy walks off, speaking into her commlink, leaving Rey to her own devices. She crosses the bridge, full of officers bending over star maps and datapads, anxiously watching the battle play out. Rey peers over someone's shoulder, wincing as an X-wing is neutralized onscreen. Her chest tightens. She wonders if it's Poe, if he's gone from the world—lost in a plume of flame, buried in deep space.

 _No._ She can't think like that.

The dogfight is merely a distraction. Soon, they'll bring out the bombers. With the First Order's TIE fleet depleted and surface cannons eliminated, they might have a chance at taking out a dreadnaught or two. If they're lucky, they'll have a shot at the flagship.

The  _Raven_  is huge. It's hulking shadow, lingering on the outskirts of the battle. It hasn't engaged. Not yet. They'll need to draw it out.

Rey stands at the window, peering into the starry sky, alive and buzzing with TIEs and X-wings and A-wings, locked in combat. From here, they look like a swarm of angry insects. The cannon fire blends into a firework display of red and green, occasionally peppered with streams of flame and smoke.

Rey closes her eyes, sinking into her mindscape, and the Force flows through her. Poe's there, close, and his signature is alive and bright. Relief floods her senses. She reaches out, cradling the vibrating pinprick of life and light in her hands. Finn and Rose are there, too, side by side. Just a few levels below, in the hangar.

She stretches herself, losing contact with reality, the activity on the bridge. She floats on the Force's tide, allowing it to carry her out to sea. Ben's signature is nowhere to be found. Rey suspects he's cutting himself off from her, hiding himself.

It hurts. It hurts, more than it should. It hurts so much that Rey loses her thread of focus and resurfaces, gasping, from her meditative state.

She opens her eyes, and her surroundings are unfamiliar. She's standing at the end of a long, dimly lit corridor. The walls and tiled floor are cold, polished, and black. She recognizes it, immediately, as a First Order ship.

_What the hell . . . ?_

Recognizing it must be a vision, presented to her by the Force, she calms. Rey starts down the corridor, following instinct, the Force's gentle thrum. She rounds a corner, and the corridor dead-ends at a doorway. It slides open, and Rey steps inside.

She's standing in a dark, windowless room. And she's not alone.

She can sense dark energy, a storm of emotions. It's dank and damp, smelling of rot and blood and urine. Rey breathes through her mouth, avoiding the stench, stomach turning.

She squints, making out the blurred, indistinct silhouette of a person—a man. He crouches on the ground, breath coming in short, shallow moans.

"Hello?" She asks, and her voice doesn't sound like her own. She approaches the man, slowly, eyes straining in the darkness. The man pants, whimpering, muttering indistinctly. She draws closer, and the stench and the exhaustion and fear close around her like walls.

She kneels on the ground, before the man. His breathing catches, resumes. He says something, but she doesn't quite catch it. She holds out a tentative hand, to touch him.

He speaks, again, louder. Voice rasping, rising and falling like an instrument, out of tune. And it's her name, on his lips.

"Rey."

Rey's stomach sinks through the floor. She blinks, unable and unwilling to believe it.

"Ben?"

Her breath snags in her throat, and a choked sob bursts from her lips. She touches his face. His scar is ragged and familiar, under her fingertips.

"Rey." He repeats, and his hand, caked with grime and dried blood, tangles itself in her hair. Her fingers slide to his wrists, holding fast, and cold metal kisses her hands. Shackles. Her gut coils into a knot. She fumbles with the chains.

"Ben, where are you? Who did this?" She cries, desperation and panic renting through her body like the claws of an animal. She tugs on the bindings. They won't budge.

He doesn't answer, only presses his mouth to her forehead, chapped lips ghosting her brow.

"Rey." He moans, and her name is a plea, for help. He's shaking, in her arms, huddled against her body like a lost, scared child.

"I'll come for you, Ben. Tell me where you are." She says. "Tell me where to find you."

But the room is dissolving, around them. Ben's gone, and she's cold. She opens her eyes, and the brightly lit bridge of the  _Challenger_  blurs into a smear of color. There's a violent ringing in her ears. Sweat pours down her forehead, stinging her eyes. Vaguely, Rey's aware someone's calling her name. She looks around, turning toward the direction of the voice, and the world drains of all color, washing into a canvas of blinding white. Her knees buckle, and her head cracks against the hard, tiled floor of the bridge.


	12. The Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** WARNING: Rape/Non-Con

_**Rey** _

Rey pushes herself upright, blinking in the light. Pain throbs in her temple, and the room lists, sickeningly. A wave of nausea overwhelms her, and she leans over and vomits, onto the floor. She retches and heaves until there's nothing left, in her stomach. When the nausea subsides, she sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. A medical droid rushes to her side.

"You have sustained a head injury. Symptoms include pain, lightheadedness, dizziness, nausea, and ringing ears. I advise you to move slowly." The droid chirps. Rey shakes her head, drawing back the sheets. She swings her legs over the side of the bunk, where she lies, attempting to stand.

"This action is not recommended. You have recently sustained a head injury. You may be dizzy and prone to fainting."

"I'm fine." Rey rasps, brushing the droid away. She stands, gripping the edge of the bunk, and squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Ben.

He's in the hands of the First Order. Trapped, hurting.  _How?_

She has to get to him. She has to bring him home.

Her lightsaber's missing. Panic floods her senses for a moment.

"Where's my lightsaber?" She demands. The droid's lenses adjust, shooting her a reproachful look. "Somebody took it! Where is it?" She screams.

"It's unnecessary to raise your voice, miss." The droid says. "Your weapon is here." It points to the bedside table. Sure enough, it's there, along with her commlink. Blood floods her cheeks.

"Sorry." She says, tucking it into her belt and fastening the commlink to her wrist.

Rey wrenches open the door of the Med Bay and rushes off, down the hall. She climbs into the turbolift. It drops, and her stomach drops, with it. She fights off the nausea, and barely manages to keep from vomiting, again, all over the turbolift's polished floor.

She gets off, and jogs to the Hangar. She sweeps the cavernous room, searching for the  _Falcon_. Her gaze finds the old, junked-up freighter almost immediately.

Rey approaches the ship. A Nubian Official, dressed in uniform, blocks her path.

"Do you have clearance to board this vessel?" The shorter man asks, narrowing his eyes.

" _Yes_." Rey says, impatiently.

"Identification?"

Rey worries her lip, forcing herself to hold the man's gaze, mind racing a mile a minute. They'll report her to D'Acy, if she reveals her intention to leave the  _Challenger_. She can't afford to get caught. Not when Ben's life hangs in the balance.

Rey purses her lips.

"You will allow me to board this vessel, and you will forget this encounter." She says, using the Force to slip through his defenses. He's unguarded. His mind is ripe and rich, fruit for the taking. With a bit of gentle probing, he goes willingly.

"Of course." The man says, with a puzzled, dazed sort of smile. "You're cleared for boarding." He turns on his heel, walking away. Rey sighs, gratefully.

She lowers the Falcon's ramp and starts up it, when a familiar voice stops her.

"Rey?"

"Finn!" She exclaims, nervously.

"What're you doing?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow. He's frowning.

"I, uh . . . I'm just . . . I'm running a system check." She says. The lie is like poison, on her tongue. Heat burns in her cheeks.

"I see." Finn says. His voice is tight, measured and careful. Rey nods, trying to rearrange her face in a way that's at least halfway convincing, and fails, miserably. It's futile. He knows the truth of the lie. She can see it in his eyes.

"Rey, we both know you're a terrible liar." Finn says.

"Finn, I'm sorry." Rey cries, breathless.

The dam in her chest is cracking.

"I have to go."

Friends aren't supposed to lie.

"What's going on, Rey?"

Rey steps down from the ramp, grabbing his wrist.

"I don't have time to explain." She says, helplessly. She searches his face. "Trust me. I really need to leave. I need you to let me go."

Finn holds her gaze. His eyes—dark, flecked with gold—swallow her.

"I can't do that. Rey, I can't let you leave. Tell me what's going on. I'll help you." A beat. "You can talk to me."

Every word widens the cracks, twisting the knife. Rey's heart sinks. She doesn't deserve him. She never will. He was there, in the beginning. He taught her what it is to love and be loved. He's the truest friend she'll ever know. And she'll never stop owing him.

"I'm sorry, Finn."

She pushes into his mind, cloaking it. Finn's eyelids flutter, and he tips, precariously. She rushes forward, supporting his weight against her body. She eases him onto the floor, so he's lying on his back.

The dam breaks, and tears spill over her eyelashes.

"I'm sorry." She says, again. She darts up the ramp, closing it behind her, and rushes to the cockpit. She straps herself in and leans over the console, starting the engine. The  _Falcon_  awakens, around her. The lights blink, and the cabin shudders, vibrating.

Rey eases the  _Falcon_  into the air, careful to avoid hitting the ceiling or the stationary fighters and vessels, below. On the ground, officials run and shout, waving their arms. Her transceiver pops and fizzes, and an angry voice demands she  _"land the freighter, immediately! You are unauthorized."_  She cuts the radio, silencing the voice, and urges the  _Falcon_  forward, soaring through the open Hangar door.

Rey accelerates, avoiding the swarm of fighters, battling, frantically trying to form a plan as she makes a beeline for the First Order's line of defense. She dodges jets of red and green light, overwhelmed. It's impossible to make out who's who in this chaos. The Falcon shudders, and several warning lights begin to blink. She's taking fire.

Rey cranes her neck, catching sight of the TIE as it makes a wide turn, trying to cut her off. She dives, and the Falcon's nose tips downward, sickeningly. Rey fights to keep what little contents of her stomach she has left, head spinning.

Without a gunner, she can't shoot back. Panic lodges itself deep in her throat, and her focus begins to slip away from her as she dips and rolls the ship blindly, trying to lose her attacker. The TIE persists, following her into the dive. It's targeting the shields.

Rey pulls the  _Falcon_  upward, making a series of rapid, corkscrew turns. The TIE lags. Rey considers her options. Her best shot is to outrun the TIE. The  _Falcon_  can manage. It's the fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy, after all.

Rey accelerates, fingers whitening on the yoke.

"C'mon, c'mon."  _Give it everything you've got._

The TIE shoots again, and misses. Rey jerks the Falcon to the left, avoiding the thin, green blasts of energy. The  _Falcon_  rolls over, so the steel hull faces upward. An explosion shakes the cabin, and Rey screams, grateful she had the sense to strap in. A jet of flame licks the windows of the cockpit, and Rey dodges the debris.

An X-wing—one of their own—shoots past, and a swell of hope inflates in Rey's chest.

Rey manages to maneuver the  _Falcon_  through the battle with minimal damage, reaching the outskirts. Behind her, red and green blasts jet spasmodically in every direction. She edges toward the First Order's first line.

She's certain Ben is on the flagship. Hux wouldn't risk keeping such a valuable, dangerous prisoner on anything smaller. But the  _Raven_  is on the outskirts, out of harm's way. A quick system sweep tells her the shields and surface cannons are still very much intact. And security is tight. She won't make it through their defenses without being blasted into oblivion. She's debating whether to launch herself from another escape pod and hope for the best when a jet of white light obscures the window. Rey realizes what's happening just seconds too late.

The Falcon shudders, violently, and the shriek of tearing metal fills her ears. Alarms are blaring, and warning signals light up the control panel. Rey grips the arms of the pilot's chair with bloodless fingers, stomach dropping through the floor. A chain of explosions rocks the ship, jarring Rey's bones. She can smell smoke and burning fuel. The seatbelt cuts into her flesh, painfully, and the cords of her neck are tense and aching, from whiplash.

She groans, fumbling with the seatbelt buckle, and another wave of nausea washes over her. She leans over and vomits, a second time. It's just bile. There's nothing left, in her stomach. She climbs out of the seat, head spinning, tapping commands into the control panel with blundering fingers.

She's been hit by wide-range missile. She assesses the damage. There's a hole in the right side of the Falcon's hull. All systems are down. Oxygen levels are dropping quickly.

Rey fishes an oxygen mask out of a compartment and jams it over her head. She hurries out of the cockpit, towards the escape pod. She clambers into it, squeezing into the cramped space, and shuts the airlock, tightly. The pod launches, and Rey watches, out the window, as the stars rush past her and she's buoyed into space. She can see the Falcon's smoldering remains, out the window. Sorrow pierces her chest, but it's overwhelmed by terror.

A First Order transporter looms, near. It's hangar doors slide open, and it engulfs the pod—a large fish, swallowing prey. Rey's breath quickens, fogging the mask. It's maddeningly claustrophobic in the tiny craft. She shifts, trying to soothe the frantic beating of her heart. The rhythm of her pulse beats against her skull and her fingers and her chest, and blood rushes in her ears. Her fingers wrap around the hilt of the lightsaber, holding fast

The pod's airlock hisses as the pressure neutralizes. Footsteps and muffled voices approach the pod, and Rey holds her breath, keeping still and silent. The pod's door unlatches, and cool air rushes over Rey's face. She sits up, eyes lifting to the stormtrooper's face, and finds herself looking down the barrel of a blaster.

The trooper turns to his companion.

"Alert Hux. We've got the girl."

Rey holds her hands, palms out, above her head. The trooper lowers his gun and grabs her upper arm, roughly.

"Easy." She snaps. She climbs out of the pod, gripping the edge of the pod, unsteady on her feet. The troopers fasten cuffs around her wrists, removing the commlink and her lightsaber. She mourns the loss. Their hands move over her, roughly, poking and prodding, searching for concealed weapons.

"Get your hands off me!" She growls. The stormtrooper laughs, cruelly.

He nudges his companion. "Get her in a cell. We'll dock in five minutes. Hux'll decide what to do with her." He says. The troopers march Rey through a door and down a hallway. A blaster jabs between her shoulder blades. A trooper kicks her shin, and she stumbles, wincing.

"Faster." He snaps.

They pause outside a barred cell, shoving her through the door. Rey trips, loses her balance. The door clangs shut, and a trooper positions himself outside the doorway, shouldering his blaster. Rey draws her cuffed hands close to her body. The metal cuts into her skin. She turns, slowly, taking inventory of the cell. It's eight square feet, wall to wall. No windows. One door. Walls on three sides, bars on the fourth. Rey leans against the wall, pausing to steady her breathing and her heartbeat, trying to gather her bearings.

They're taking her to the flagship. A smile tugs at her lips. They're unwittingly aiding her. Once she makes it onto the  _Raven_ , she'll find Ben, and they'll escape. Together.

There's nothing to do, now. Except wait.

She knows all about waiting.

Rey's dozing, floating in the in-between space between slumber and waking, when the trooper raps on the bars, opening the door. He takes her arm, jostling her, and marches her down the hall and through a docking bay, then onto a turbolift.

Rey ignores her captor, rocking on the balls of her feet. She extends herself, over the Force's web, trying to pinpoint Ben's energy. She reaches out to him, calling his name, but there's nothing. The bridge where their minds used to be linked is broken, desolate. She pushes down the panic rising like bile in her throat, honing her focus.

The turbolift shudders to a halt, and the stormtrooper jabs her with his blaster. She steps off the lift, and he forces her down a long, tiled corridor. He pauses outside a door, and it slides open. They step inside.

"Supreme Leader." The trooper says, sinking to his knees. "I've brought the prisoner."

"Excellent." Hux says, turning. Rey meets his gaze, unflinching.

A lumpy, white scar warps the canvas of his face. The skin is stretched tight in places, loose in others. His remaining eye is sunken deep in the socket; the other is a mass of scar tissue, concealed with a patch. He peers at Rey with eyes like cold steel, and they move the length of her body. His thin lips turn upward—a grotesque smile.

"We meet again." He says. He draws nearer, putting his face close to hers. He lifts his hand, and Rey fights the temptation to shrink away as he traces his index finger along her cheekbone. Her stomach coils into knots. His touch is unwelcome and abhorrent, and every particle of her being screams in protest—at his closeness, at the predatory gleam in his eyes, at the stench of his breath and the contact of his skin.

"I'm going to finish what I started." He says, and his breath stirs the stray hairs falling out of her bun. "And you're going to help me."

Rey bares her teeth, drawing away. "Get your hands off me."

Hux clicks his tongue.

"Such a pity. I'm afraid that fire will burn out, by the time I'm finished with you."

"What've you done with Ben?" Rey demands. She pushes into his mind. He resists, briefly, before she overpowers him. His jaw slackens, and his eyes widen.

_Where is Ben Solo?_

She sorts through his thoughts, bypassing memories and undercurrents of strange desires and wonderings, searching for the key to the door that's keeping her from Ben. His mind is weak. He's willing. And the information she's looking for is nowhere to be found.

_He doesn't know._

Rey retreats from Hux's mind. Her hands strains against the metal cuffs, fingernails biting into her palm. There's a blaster concealed in the folds of his robes. She summons the Force, drawing the weapon toward her. It goes, willingly, and the cuffs unlatch and fall away from her wrists. She reaches out a free hand to catch the weapon. But it skitters out of its trajectory, knocked out of the air by a second, invisible force. It sails through the air and clatters to the floor, stopping before a pair of large, black boots.

Rey lifts her gaze, taking in the hooded figure, cloaked in black, standing in the doorway. He disregards the blaster, crossing the room in long, easy strides. Rey's eyes follow him, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. She knows this man.

"Rey." The man says, voice muffled and warped through the mask he wears. Rey's transported back to another world, another night. A night with rain and wet soil and the residue of nightmares. The sensation of falling, and the slick, warm, wetness of blood on her thighs.

He's one of Ben's Knights.

"We meet again."

"Where's Ben?" She snaps.

"Ben Solo isn't here." He says. "He hasn't set foot on a First Order ship since his defection."

"That's not possible." Rey says, tremulously. "You're lying. I saw him . . . he's here, he—"

"He is your weakness, Rey." The Knight's chin dips, slightly. Rey watches the muscles in his neck and jaw coil and spring free, as he swallows, speaks. "I knew you'd come. You've allowed yourself to be captured, on a whim. I know your nature. I know you trust the Force. I know you're desperate to be a hero." The Knight laughs, humorlessly. "You are impulsive, and naïve. He is your weakness. And he will destroy you."

It's a trap.

He's led her straight into a trap. Just like he drew her out into the storm that night, following the desperate cries of a phantom child. He slipped through her defenses, cultivated her guilt, her fears and desires, and planted a seed. And he got what he wanted: her, alone and weaponless. Packaged and tied with ribbon.

 _How_ could she be so stupid?

The Knight goes on.

"What do you intend to do with me, know that you've got me?" Rey asks.

"I don't intend to kill you, if that's what you think. Not yet. Fortunately, this weakness goes both ways. You're an asset."

"I don't understand."

"I'm going to bring balance to the Force. A balance that hasn't existed in this universe for a millennium. I feared I'd have to destroy you. Both of you. Until I looked inside your head and saw your true feelings. You care for Ben Solo. Ben Solo cares for you." He pauses. "You'll destroy each other. You're a siren song. I don't have to go looking for Ben Solo. Ben Solo will come to me."

"You're wrong." Rey hisses. The Knight ignores her.

"Now, all that's left . . ." He trails off, tilting his head. "All that's left is a bit of persuasion. To help our siren sing."

**_Ben_ **

He visits the mirror on his daily trek to the sea. He cannot escape it. The mirror calls to him, still. And still, it shows him nothing. He cannot ignore its voice any more than he can sprout wings and fly off this miserable rock.

He shakes the water from his lashes and approaches the glassy wall of the cave, running his fingers over the surface. Like always, it shows him nothing. He sighs, heavily, and settles himself cross-legged before it. He peers at the lost, dark, hollow eyes of the man staring back at him. The mirror's voice sings in his ear, rising and follow like ocean waves, a peculiar cadence, a language he doesn't understand.

The voice becomes many voices, reverberating around the cave walls, echoey and washed-out, like the voices of the ghosts of drowned mariners, preaching from reefs and rocky seabeds. He listens, straining his ears, picking though the threads of woven tongues, trying to gather from the cacophony what he can, but it's alien. The voices are familiar, but the words are foreign. One moment, he swears it's his mother's voice, singing to him. A velvety lullaby that exists only in his earliest memories of her—memories that are painted in the golden hue of summer, the simple, untainted joys of childhood.

Sometimes, it's Snoke. Beckoning from the shadows. Calling him weak and foolish.  _A child in a mask. A disgrace to your bloodline. Too much heart, like your father. Never as strong as Darth Vader . . ._

The next moment, it's Rey. Her voice is a melody, a snake's tooth. It presses its soft, wet lips against his ear and murmurs into it. Promises of love, a future. Her voice triumphs Snoke's shadow, driving out the darkness with light brighter than a thousand suns. It cloaks him, envelops him, caresses his face and nestles against his chest. And his heart beats faster. A flutter, a bird's wing. She pleads with him, begs him to turn, to embrace the light.

_We can't run from this._

_You're the only one who can make this choice, Ben_

_The light can be your home. I can be your home._

He tries to tell her he wants to. He tries to tell her he loves her, but the words shatter and drift away before they leave his mouth, swallowed by the voices. She draws away, and her light shrinks and dims. He tries to call her name, to ensnare her in his arms and never let go. To pluck her from the shadows and keep her light for himself.

The mirror's voice changes, and its soft, gentle waves gain a sharp edge. The song is a scream—one, drawn-out note full of pain and hurt and fear. Ben stands, heart jumping into his throat, searching for the source of the noise. It drives a knife into his chest. Because he knows that scream. He knows that strangled, agonized noise. He hears it, in his nightmares. He hears it when the walls close in the shadows are too painful to bear.

It's  _her_. Something's making that sound come out of her mouth. Something is  _hurting_  her. The sky splits in two, and fields are burning, around him. Every beat of his heart roars in his ears. His fingernails curl into his palm, and blood pools there.

The knife twists. It's tearing at the seams of his mind, threatening to cut it loose.

"Rey!" He squeezes his eyes shut, projecting himself toward her. He meets an impenetrable, invisible wall where the bridge should be. But he can still her. Her screams reverberate off the cave walls, echoing, loud and nightmarish. He opens his eyes, thrusting his fist against the mirror, vision tunneling as panic closes around his throat.

"Where is she?" He demands. The foggy surface of the mirror ripples, and the liquid surface engulfs him, like water. He scrambles back, tripping and falling in a sprawl of long limbs on the cave floor. His surroundings dissolve, and he's no longer in the cave—he's on a First Order ship. The tiles are cool and smooth, under his fingers. He pushes himself up, squinting across the room, toward the sound of her screams.

She's there, suspended in the air. She writhes and twists, fighting an invisible Force. Below her, Aries Ren, his Knight, stands with his palm outstretched, eyes locked on Rey. Hux is there, watching the scene with a twisted smile.

Ben bellows, and his field of vision bleeds red. He draws his lightsaber and ignites it, galloping across the tiles. He raises it above him, bringing it down on Aries' head, slicing through the helmet, cutting straight to the bone. Except, it doesn't.

It goes straight through him, leaving him unscathed. In fact, Aries doesn't even acknowledge Ben. His focus doesn't break, and Rey continues to writhe and scream, wrought with unimaginable agony. He can feel it, as she does. It rips through every nerve and muscle and cells. His heart takes the worst of it—he strongly suspects he's going into cardiac arrest.

He backs off, dropping his lightsaber. It hits the floor with a thud that's drowned out by the wretched, animal sounds escaping from Rey's lips. Ben clamps his hands over his ears, and tears stream down his chest. He wills it to stop, wills the gods and the stars above to let him take her pain away. He'd take her place, gladly. If it meant she'd stop hurting. Because Rey's pain hurts him far worse than anything else could ever hurt him. Any wound inflicted upon him pales in comparison to her scars, her pain, her misery. He wants to wrap her in his arms, to shrink her into something small and easily kept safe. Like a gemstone, or a bird. A small, beating, fluttering thing he can enclose in his palm and hold close to his chest and protect for the rest of his days, until the end of his days.

But he can't. He can't reach her, he can't protect her. He failed her. And he's just a spectator, here. A ghost.

Aries's fingers relax, and Rey crumples to floor, folding on herself. Her body twitches. Once, twice. And falls still. Ben stops breathing. For one, universe-shattering moment he thinks she might be dead. And then she coughs.

A tiny sound. Miraculous, really. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. Because it means she's alive. That air is still moving in and out of her lungs. That her heart is still beating and her brain is still functioning and she's here, with him. His guiding light, in this galaxy full of darkness and demons.

He kneels beside Rey. A flowering of bruises patterns the bare parts of her he can see. And he knows the damage goes beyond that. He takes her in his arms, but her body slips through him, fluidly. He isn't solid. Not here, in this third space. In this illusory realm, a product of the mirror's dark energy.

"Rey." He rasps. Her eyelids flutter, and open. She blinks, eyes rolling in their sockets. She stares straight through him, moving drunkenly. Slowly, painstakingly, she drags pushes herself up and climbs to her feet, wincing.

"You'll never win." She says. Her voice is distant, washed out. "You'll never get what you want." She spits, at Aries' feet. Blood trickles from her nose, from her ears. Ben's stomach sinks through the floor.

"I already have." Aries snaps, scornfully. Rey's mouth twitches into a smile.

Aries ignores her, raising his palm. Rey charges at him, off balance, thrusting her palms forward. An invisible wave of energy strikes Aries' chest, and he staggers backward, grunting, falling to one knee. The knight regains his balance, mask twitching in Rey's direction. His fingers curl into a fist, and Rey falls to her knees, clawing at her throat. Her lips bleed blue, eyes overbright with terror.

"Enough." Hux says, coldly. Aries releases his grip, and Rey slumps to the ground, barely lucid from the oxygen deprivation, almost delirous. Ben sees her eyes flickering, under the thin, dusky purple skin of her eyelids.

Hux withdraws from the shadows, approaching Rey, where she lies. Ben's hands twitch, at his sides, and he wants nothing more than to wrap them around the column of Hux's throat and choke the life out of him. But he can't. He's powerless.

"Leave us."

Aries nods, marching from the room. Hux circles Rey like a predator, ready to strike. The corners of his mouth twitch upward.

He seizes Rey's wrists, wrestling her to the ground. She struggles, but he overpowers her. Ben watches, almost whiting-out in pure, blind fury, as Hux fumbles with his pants zipper, fingernails ripping at her clothes, forcing himself inside her.

"Filthy scum." He hisses, in her ear, bearing down on her. Rey whimpers, feebly, tears rolling down her cheeks, trying to resist him. Ben bites his lip, hard, and blood smears of his teeth and pools over his tongue. He's bellowing, wild with rage, desperate to stop this, to pull Hux off her and kill him, slowly and painfully, hacking him apart, piece by piece . . .

The walls are shimmering, dissolving. The back of Ben's head cracks against the stone floor of the cave as he staggers backward, and a brilliant constellation of stars bursts before his eyes. He groans, propping himself on his elbows, blinking away the blinding spots of color and light.

As soon as he gains proper use of his vision, he's on his feet, breath thick and hot and heavy in his throat—bursting from his lungs in shallow, frantic gasps. He dives into the water, finding the cave's exit, and scales the cliffside. He hurries up the staircase.

The  _Apollo_ 's waiting for him, where he left it. He clambers up the ramp and spills into the cockpit, salt water clinging to his hair and his clothes. He starts the engine and preps the hyperdrive. He urges the  _Apollo_  upward, and it's nose tips toward the turbulent, gray sky. The Apollo accelerates and speeds off, into the clouds. Ben's grip whitens on the controls. And all the while, prayers dance on his tongue and tears glisten in his eyes.

_Hold on. Hold on, Rey. I'm coming._

**_Rey_ **

Rey fumbles with the thread of consciousness she's tried so desperately to grasp as the world careens, sickeningly, from under her feet. She hears Hux's breath in her ears, just audible over the pounding of her heart. He's rough, and there's a dull, burning pain that begins between her thighs and climbs up her insides. With every advance, he hisses insults in her ear. He intends to pick her apart and turn her pieces over in his hands and line them up on walls like prizes. To claim her, like he owns her.

She wills her eyes open, to gaze into those cruel, steely eyes. To let him know the privilege is not his. To make him look upon her face and see the spark, there. He will know that he hasn't smothered that fire, that it still burns. That it will grow and consume and destroy everything, in its wake.

She is not his. She is not something to be chewed up and spit out and used. She is strong. She is fighting. If she has one, small act of bravery in the final moments, then let this be it.

It's over, quickly. He finishes, inside her, and withdraws. Rey doesn't make a sound. Blood trickles down her thighs. The artificial light from the bulbs, overhead drown her world in white, and her vision grows fuzzy.

Hux stalks off, giving orders. Someone grabs Rey roughly under the arms and drags her across the floor. He hoists her into a chair, attaching restraint cuffs around her wrists and ankles. She doesn't protest. The thread of her consciousness is slipping away, and she goes gladly, head lolling on the chair's back.

She drifts in and out. She dreams, feverishly, and the voices in her head are interwoven by one, familiar voice that trumps the others.

It's Ben, and she tries to catch it and hold it in her hands. He begs her to hold on.  _Hold on, Rey._

After a while, his voice fades, drowning in the sound of waves, crashing on rocks. The rough, fibrous stalks of tall grass brush against her legs, as she wades through a meadow. Leia is there, younger and happier than Rey ever saw her, in life. Flowers of every color and variety permeate the meadow in an eclectic mixture of sweet scents. There are flowers woven in her dark, chestnut tresses. There are flowers woven in her swan-white cowl, bursting from the place where a blaster tore a hole in her stomach. She wears a crown of lilies.

Rey's eyes fill with tears.

"Leia." She breathes.

Leia smiles, sadly. She taps a finger to her lips, then presses a hand over Rey's chest, where her heart drums against her sternum. Leia turns, leaving Rey in the meadow. Rey watches her shrinking figure. Her gaze drops to her hands. There are bunches of wildflowers crushed in her fists.

A handsome, dark bird flutters from a tree at the edge of the meadow and perches on Rey's shoulder. It's warm, heavy weight settles against her, and it's oddly comforting. The bird cocks its head, peering at her with one, coffee-colored iris—a dark, violent ocean, a universe of stars against a velvet sky, contained in one, glossy orb. The bird clicks its beak, ruffling its feathers. It opens its mouth and speaks.

_Rey, wake up._

_Rey, can you hear me?_

_Rey?_

_Rey!_

Rey opens her eyes, and her surroundings bleed into focus. The polished floor of the flagship, the curtains stamped with the First Order's emblem, the cuffs slicing into her wrists. There's a warm, steady weight on her arm. Another, softer touch, caressing her cheek. She struggles to lift her head, toward the direction of the voice. She blinks, bewildered, as the fuzzy edges of a familiar face swim into focus.

"Ben?"

**_Ben_ **

Rey's eyelids flutter as she struggles toward consciousness. Ben sighs, relieved. He caresses her cheek, murmuring her name. She opens her eyes, a slit, gazing at him dazedly.

"Ben?"

He nods. Rey's eyes fill with tears, and Ben's heart breaks. He removes the restraints from her wrists and ankles. He slips his arms under her back and legs, lifting her from the chair. Her small, trembling frame slumps against him, and his arms tighten around her, as if he could take her pain away. As if he could erase from her memory the terrible things she's been through—things he allowed to happen while he stood by, helplessly, uselessly. As if he could shield her from the world and its demons.

She huddles against him, weak, body quaking with sobs. He mutters words of comfort, leaning his cheek against her crown, holding her.

"Can you stand?" He rasps. They need to get out of here. He snuck in here unnoticed, but his luck's running out. Every minute they stay here, their chances of escaping unscathed dwindle.

She nods, feebly, and he sets her down. She sways, unsteadily, and he throws her arm around his neck, supporting her weight against his body. Her clothes are tattered. Her lip is split and swollen. There's a cut on her brow, another on her chin. Bruises kiss the column of her neck, crawling across her jaw, settling in the valleys and ravines of her face. Angry tears bite and scratch at his eyes.

She gazes at him, lifting a slender, trembling hand to brush the tears from his face. He starts to speak, meaning to tell her what he's known all along, that they're meant to be together. That the Force is just energy. Light or dark, it doesn't matter. It's just gray. That their fates are woven. That he'd travel to the ends of the galaxy for her, that he'd give his life to save her. That he cares for her. That he . . .

That he loves her.

Yeah, that too.

But the first syllable doesn't make it out of his mouth, before a blaster bolt sings through the air, tearing through his flesh. It opens a burning, blinding, gaping hole in his chest. Supernovas burst before his eyes, and fire licks across his body. He groans and drops to his knees, vision dimming.

"Ben!" Rey screams, kneeling beside him. He palms the shredded clothes, fingernails scraping across the torn, singed flesh. Thick, black blood coats his hands and runs the length of his torso. He grits his teeth, trying to regain proper use of his eyes. His surrounds shift in and out of focus, and Rey's voice is distant. She presses her hand over the wound, attempting to staunch the flow of blood.

He coughs. There's a warm, wet mass in his chest.

The blaster missed his heart, just barely. He suspects a few shattered ribs, a punctured lung. If the blood loss doesn't kill him, the pain surely will.

Ben squints through the haze of pain and shock, searching for his attacker. Hux stands in the doorway, blaster raised. He pulls the trigger, and a second blaster shot pierces the air. The jet of light stops, just inches from Ben's head. Rey thrusts her palm, and the beam shoots backwards, striking the wall. Rey plants herself firmly between Ben and Hux, watching the redhead fiercely—a lioness, contemplating a potential kill. With another flick of her wrist, the blaster twitches out of his grasp. Rey catches the weapon, pointing the barrel at Hux. Her face is unreadable. She squeezes the trigger, and Hux crumples to the ground.

Dead.

Rey drops the weapon and kicks it away. Ben's eyes lock on her face as she drops to her knees beside him and gathers him in her arms.

"Ben." She cries, paling. She says something, something else he doesn't catch, and the ringing in his ears and the rapid thudding of his heart are deafening. He bites his tongue, attempting to contain the agonized cry that builds in his throat. The world lists to the side, dizzyingly. Rey's fingers are spread, over his chest, and the heel of her palm presses into the mangled mass of flesh.

"Stay with me." She says. Ben nods, teeth sinking into the soft, warm flesh on the inside of his cheek. His vision clears and crystallizes, somewhat, and the room swims back into focus. He tries to regain control of his breathing, forcing the ragged, rapid breaths into something measured and slower, practicing all those breathing exercises he learned, as a child, his skill and strength with the Force just beginning to manifest.

He groans, staggers to his feet.

"Ben, don't. You're making it worse."

"I'm fine." He groans, taking a step. Pain laces up his ribs, and stars flicker into view. He coughs, clamping his bloodied hand over his mouth. Rey's fingers curl around the fabric of his sleeve.

"Ben, you're not." Rey pleads. "Look at me." She cups his cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. Sweat beads on her forehead and upper lip. The flesh is swollen and stretched tight around the cuts and bruises, and her hair—matted and damp—sticks to her face. The edges of his agony become whiter and sharper as a flicker of rage rears its ugly head at the sight of her marred face, of the places where Hux and Aries touched her,  _his_  Rey.

"I'll kill him." Ben growls, brushing her away. He starts across the room, and his blood smears over the polished tiles. "I'll kill all of them."

Ben fumbles for his lightsaber, extending himself across the Force's web, sensing for Aries' signature.

_Solo._

Ben freezes. His blood solidifies in his veins, his fingers tighten around the hilt of his lightsaber.

_A child in a mask. A disgrace to your bloodline. Too much heart, like your father. Never as strong as Darth Vader . . ._

"Master?"

No. It can't be.

Yet, it is. Snoke's voice, Snoke's presence, in his mind. His claws sink in, prying open Ben's mental barriers, burrowing and infesting and thriving like a parasite.

_"You've grown soft, Ren. I suspected your weakness, but I thought you stronger than this. Of course, it's attributable to your father. His heart, his faith . . . His blood taints your strength, your potential. He's scum."_

The voice exists only inside Ben's head. It's as if Snoke's speaking directly into his ear, bending and twisting his thoughts and his will like a ravenous storm bends and twists the branches of trees, warping the wood beyond recognition.

" _Get out of my head."_

_"Pitiful. You're no Vader. You're unworthy. You can't even keep me out. You can't protect the girl, Ren. You can't protect her any more than you could've protected Han. You're a monster. And in the end, the darkness wins. You'll destroy her. Like you destroy everything."_

_"I've seen your fear,s Ben. I've seen your mind. I've seen your desires. You are weak, and you will destroy the ones you love. The girl, the Jedi, she doesn't love you. She doesn't need you. She doesn't want you . . ._

Snoke's voice rises, and laughter reverberates in Ben's skull. Ben staggers to his knees, again. He can feel Rey's hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, and her desperate, pleading cries. But Snoke's ghost, in his head, overwhelms her attempts to reach him.

Something snaps, in Ben's mind. Some barrier breaks, and a terrible flood of memories bombard his mindscape. He tries to fight it, bearing down, fighting the spread of Snoke's poison, through his body and mind. But he's slipping. He's not strong enough. He never will be.

Ben, six years old—learning the truth of his grandfather's fate, the truth of his bloodline. Listening with his ear pressed against the closed door of his parents' bedroom.

 _"He's such a sensitive boy."_ His mother, voice thick with unshed tears. _"There's darkness in him, Han. I feel it. I'm afraid for him."_

 _"Leia . . ."_ His father, voice rough with doubt and unease.

_"How could he not? After my father . . ."_

_"He's not Vader."_

_"If we're not careful, he will be."_

Ben, eight years old—watching the Falcon's ascension into a cloudless sky.

_"Can I come with you?"_

_"I'm afraid not, kiddo."_

_"When will you come back?"_

_"Three days. No more. No less."_

_"Pinky-swear?"_

Han returned on the sixth night, smelling of liquor and perfume, cheek ruddy and imprinted with finger marks where Leia'd slapped him. Ben galloped down the stairs and threw himself into his father's arms. Han staggered, laughing, mussing Ben's hair.

_"Hey, kiddo."_

Han knelt and handed Ben a model X-wing.

 _"Woah."_  Ben said, impressed, holding the model in his hands.  _"It's just like Wedge Antille's X-wing, from the Red Squadron!"_  Ben gasped, excitedly. He wanted to be a pilot, just like his dad.

Seven years later, the model fell from the shelf and shattered as Ben sat in the shadows of his closet, tears streaming down his face, hands clamped over his ears, trying to fight off the voices inside his head.

Ben, fifteen—leaving for Luke's temple. His mother cupped his cheek, tears welling in her eyes as she looked upon her son. His face was lean and handsome, losing the baby fat and gaining the shape and angles of adulthood. He's tall. He towers over his mother at six feet, and he's still growing.

_"Where's Dad?"_

Leia frowned.

_"He . . . he couldn't make it."_

Ben nodded, swallowing his disappointment.

 _"He'll be in touch."_  Leia added, quickly. " _In the meantime, behave. Listen to Luke. Focus on your studies."_

 _"I will."_  Ben said, and, barely containing himself, threw his arms around her. He pretended not to notice the way she stiffened, almost imperceptibly, before hugging him back.  _"I'll see you soon."_

Leia nodded, her smile painted with a conflicting smear of pride and sorrow and doubt.

Ben—waking up to the hiss of a lightsaber, igniting. A flash of green light, his uncle's terrified eyes, and darkness. Then fire and blood.

His Knights. All six. Vowing to purge the Jedi Order, vowing to follow Ben, until death. Slit palms and a blood oath.

And Snoke.

There, when the smoke dissipated. There, to pick up the pieces. There, when Luke wasn't. When his mother wasn't. When his father . . .

He knelt before his master with bleeding hands and bleeding heart and pledged himself to the dark side.

Ben, plunging his lightsaber into his father's chest, watching the light leave his eyes, pushing him off the bridge. Feeling Chewie's bow caster strike his abdomen.

Ben, meeting Rey in the snow on Starkiller Base. Watching her as she circled him like a lioness, a dark, predatory glint in her eyes, and tears, too. His grandfather's lightsaber in hand, ready to kill. Begging her to do it. To finish him off. To take his pain away . . .

"Ben!"

Ben resurfaces, ragged breaths tearing holes in the silence of the room and the hum of the Force in his body. Darkness closes around him, cloaking him like a blanket. He's lying flat on his back. Blood gushes from the blaster wound with every beat of his heart. Rey's kneeling beside him, her hands cupping his face.

"Ben!" She screams, shaking his shoulders. His eyelids flutter, and he squints, eyes finding Rey's pale, worried face.

"Ben." Rey sighs, relieved. "We need to go. I think I can get us on a ship, if you can make it to the hangar."

Ben shakes his head, groggily.

"No."

Rey searches his face, bewildered.

"What?"

Ben struggles to his feet, groaning and panting, screwing up his face against the pain. Snoke's voice still screams in his head.

_Weakness . . . too much heart . . . too much doubt. Unwanted. Unloved. Never as strong as Vader . . ._

It's a mantra, in his head.

Ben reaches for his lightsaber. Rey looks at him, and a shadow of fear crosses her face.

"Ben . . ."

He holds it out to her.

_Weakness. Doubt._

"Ben, what're you . . ."

"Do it." He hisses.

_Never as strong as Vader._

His vision dims, again. He wants it to be over. Anything, to take this pain away. She deserves a chance at a better life. She deserves better than him. He's weak. He'll destroy everything, in his wake.

_A monster._

"What?"

"Finish it, Rey." He says. He brandishes the hilt of the lightsaber toward her. Rey shakes her head, slowly, as if she can't quite understand him.

_Unwanted. Unloved._

"Do it." Tears stream down his cheeks. "Please."

It's the only way to end this. It would be kind. It would be mercy . . .

Rey takes the hilt of the saber in her hands. He closes his eyes, relieved. Rey turns the weapon over in her hands, gazing into his face. "No."

She lobs it across the room. It soars through the air and skitters across the floor with a metallic clang.

"Rey . . ." He pleads.

"No." She says. "I'm not losing you, Ben Solo. Not after everything."

"You deserve . . . better." He pants. "There's no future for me. There's no future for us."

She steps forward, fixing him with a fierce, unwavering glare. She takes his wrists in her hands, holding fast.

"Yes, there is."

She reaches up and fists her hand in his hair, tugging his face towards her. Her lips crash into his, and flames lick across his skin. Snoke's voice fades, and there's just the throbbing of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears.

Her body is alive, against him. She's bright and flickering and warm—a star. His arms encircle her, clutching her against him, tightly. It's her attempt to breathe new life into him. There's wetness on his cheek. He's crying. He draws away. Her eyes are alight, blazing and fierce.

She kisses him, again. He gazes into her face; it's the only truth he knows. She's his. He's hers. Nothing else matters.

"Stay with me." She whispers, caressing his cheek. Ben nods. Again, the words dance on his tongue. He opens his mouth, and the world dissolves. He sways, teetering on unsteady feet, vision darkening, and slumps onto the tiles.

**_Rey_ **

****

            “Ben!” Rey screams. He’s gone, unreachable. His face is stark white, a shock against his black clothing and blacker blood. She glances around, struggling to formulate a plan of action. She needs to get him out of here. And fast. There’s a bacta tank on the _Challenger_. If she can get him there, he might make it.

            The pool of blood is steadily widening, spreading over the tiles, lapping at the toes of her boots. Her stomach drops through the floor. A pool of blood that big, and there’s no going back. It’s miraculous, really, that he’s still managing to cling to life. She knows she hasn’t lost him, yet. His presence still thrums through the bond like a heartbeat—steady and strong.

            She kneels beside him, pressing her palms over the wound. A flicker of warmth starts in her fingers. Rey remembers the night of the attack, on Hoth. The way he staunched the flow of blood. He saved her life. She can do it, too.

Rey summons the Force, weaving energy through the wound, pulling the edges of ragged flesh together. Twice, she falters. Her hands are unsteady. Her pulse throbs in her fingertips. She makes a third attempt, but the hiss of a lightsaber interrupts her concentration.

She whips around, and her gaze rests on Aries, illuminated by the red glow of his lightsaber. She rises to her feet, facing him.

His masked head tilts, taking in the scene. He doesn’t say a word.

A beat.

He charges at her, lightsaber raised above his head. She thrusts her palm out. Ben’s saber cuts through the air, jumping into her hand. She ignites it in one, fluid motion. She blocks Aries’ attack with ease and pivots to the left, pirouetting, bringing the saber down on him. It slices through his shoulder, and he barely makes a sound as she knocks her blade away before it can inflict any mortal damage.

Ben’s lightsaber is alive, warm in her hands. And Rey’s reminded of its owner, himself. Ben’s lips, his fire. What it’s like, when he’s fighting alongside her. When he’s kissing her. When he’s pressed against her, bare skin shining with sweat and emanating heat. When every fiber of her body comes alive under his touch.

Rey swings the lightsaber, blocking a blow aimed at her left side. She strikes, again, but he knocks the blade, knocking her off-balance. He slips through her defenses, opening a gash in her left side. She grits her teeth, channeling the pain. She darts forward, defending his blows with a cross-body slash. He falters, and she seizes the opportunity. Rey’s blade finds flesh, and Aries’ hand severs from the wrist. Aries pales, eyes widening. He staggers, clutching the bloody stump of his wrist to his chest. He turns and runs, an unbalanced, loping jog, slipping on his own blood as he flees. 

Rey deactivates Ben’s lightsaber and returns it to her belt. She doesn’t pursue Aries, instead returning to Ben’s side. His pulse drums weakly against her fingers. She’s running out of time.

A terrible, deafening roar shatters the silence. The _Raven_ shudders, and the lights flicker. The sound of the barrage, the endless explosions, ceases. Rey looks around, confused. She dashes to the window and peers out, at the expanse of space where the Alliance ships hover in the black. There’s a disturbance, in the Force. Something’s tugging at the web of energy, like an insect caught in a spider’s trap. She squints, detecting nothing out of place. But the _Raven_ in beginning to move. It tilts, sickeningly. The lights dim, wink out.

Rey closes her eyes, willing herself into the Force’s tapestry. The pinpricks of light—stars—in the near vicinity are the thousands and thousands of living beings, around her. She reads the Force-signatures. She senses Poe and Finn and Rose, even D’Acy. Ben’s near. His signature is weak—a dim, pulsing pillar of light and dark. And there, just beyond, is a swirling mass of dark energy.

A malevolent entity. A tumor.

A Force storm.

 “Oh, Force.” She breathes. Her eyes snap open.

 It’s attached to Ben’s gray beacon. It’s a part of him. He created it, when Snoke’s ghost invaded his mind and reopened his wounds. When Snoke opened the floodgates and broke the barriers, unleashing the Ben’s demons.

It’s growing, consuming. It will destroy everything in its path.

They need to leave. While there’s still time.

Rey rushes to his side, shaking him.

“Ben!” She yells. She shakes his shoulders, resorts to slapping his face. He’s unresponsive, dead to the world. He’s in that in-between space, drifting towards death. Even now, Rey can feel his pulse weakening, through the Force. She can feel their bond fading. Panic grips her. She can’t lose him. She won’t.

She lifts his upper body, hooking her elbows under his armpits. He’s massive. She half-drags, half-floats him through the door and down the hall. She makes it to the turbolift and presses the button.

In the hangar, stormtroopers are rushing about, in some sort of organized chaos. They’re too preoccupied with the imminent Force storm to pay them any mind. Rey spots her lightsaber, tucked in a First Order official’s belt, and thrusts her palm out, summoning it. It sails into her hand, and she tucks it in her belt.

Rey sets her sights on a small, black shuttle. She drag-floats Ben to the ship and hauls him up the ramp.

“Hey!” A trooper shouts, drawing his blaster. Rey turns, and he fires. She blocks the blast. It’s energy shifts, rebounding on the trooper, and his helmet smacks against the floor as he careens backward.

Rey closes the shuttle doors, hoisting Ben into the single bunk in the hold. She sprints into the cockpit and clambers into the pilot’s seat. The shuttle’s engines hum to life, and she seizes the controls, launching the shuttle forward. It speeds out of Hangar and into space, leaving the swarm of plastoid soldiers behind.

Rey gazes out of the shuttle’s window, searching the horizon. She catches a glimpse of the Force storm. It’s a dark, swirling mass. Electricity crackles within it—bolts of lightning that fork and fracture, slicing the stars into pieces. It’s swallowing everything in its path, like a black hole. Rey watches, horrified, as part of Bespin’s fleet is obliterated in the storm. The First Order’s fleet isn’t better off. The _Raven_ drifts toward the storm’s gaping maw.

Rey accelerates, launching the shuttle in the opposite direction. When she’s farther away, she shifts the shuttle’s controls into autopilot. A firework display of explosions rocks the shuttle, and Rey peers out the window, eyes searching the fleet. Plumes of fire emit from the Raven’s canons.

They’re trying to bomb it.

            To no avail. The storm is unhindered, drawing ships into its depths as if it were a gargantuan magnet. Rey watches, tears welling in her eyes, as the last of the Bespin-Chandrila fleet disappears. When two of the First Order’s dreadnaughts are obliterated, too, Rey can’t find it in herself to feel any sort of triumph. Just a horrible mixture of fear and awe.

            The storm’s energy still lingers near Ben’s Force-signature, and Rey can’t shake the suspicion that it’s attached to him, somehow.

Rey watches, unable to breathe, as the _Challenger_ begins to drift toward the mass. Finn’s on that ship. And Poe, Rose, Connix, and D’Acy. Her friends. Her family. She can’t sit here and watch them turn to dust, ripped apart by the storm.

 It’s a Force-fueled entity, after all. If anything can stop it from obliterating every ship in this sector, it’s a Force-user. With Ben incapacitated, the task falls to her.

She draws a breath, drawing the Force around her like a cloak. For a moment, Luke’s a warm, bright star, in her mindscape. His signature is accompanied by a twin, and Rey’s heart climbs into her throat, recognizing Leia.

 _We’re with you._ The Force whispers. _We’ll be here, to the end._

Rey closes her eyes, letting their light envelope her, cloaking her in warmth and a promise. Rey counts to ten, sinking into her mindscape. She rides the Force’s current. She tugs on the threads, separating the interfering energies, until it’s just her and Ben and the dark entity that surrounds his Force-signature.

She imagines a pair of hands. The Force hums, vibrating in her core. She traps the storm in her fingers, containing its energy. It resists, and shockwaves tear through her body, jarring her bones. Her teeth click together. She keeps her eyes tightly closed, straining under the effort. Her world sways, sickeningly. She can’t hold on. It’s too powerful. The darkness thrashes and wrestles in her grasp, and bolts of lightning—blinding white—sear into the backs of her eyelids. She inhales, pulse drumming in her ears.

 _You’re stronger than you know, Rey_ , Luke urges.

She inhales, drawing energy from the stars and the spaces between them, forcing apart particles and cells and bits of debris, concentrating her entire energy, her entire being,

Ben’s energy, the familiar, gray light, pulses. Once. Twice. His light brightens, grows, battling the darkness. The darkness shrinks. Their souls entwine, and a burst of energy—a flowering of bright, burning stars—stretches throughout the Force’s web, bathing everything in gray light.

Rey gasps, exalted, her body vibrating with the thrum of their energy.

The storm implodes.

For a moment, the world outside the shuttle window is a blinding expanse of white. The Raven’s silhouette is a shock of darkness within the light. Then, it winks out, taking the ship with it. A cataclysmic shockwave sends a shudder rippling through space, rocking the shuttle, throwing Rey across the cockpit. Her head cracks against the wall, and sparks wink in her line of vision. She groans, combatting a sudden wave of nausea, struggling to her feet.

In the hold, Ben’s lying on the bunk, ashen-faced and still. Rey rushes to his side, pushing her fingers against his neck.

Where she expects his pulse to push against her fingers, there is nothing.

“Ben?” She cries, voice breaking. She bends over him, pressing her ear to his nose. No breath stirs the flyaways around her face.

“Ben!” She screams, grasping his hand. “Ben, c’mon.” She whimpers, tears blurring her vision. She presses her palm over his wound. Using the Force, she staunches the flow of blood, sealing the wound. Slowly, carefully, she climbs into the bunk and lies atop him, wrapping her arms around his body. She keeps her palm firmly planted over the wound. Warmth bleeds from her fingertips, sealing the wound.

She nestles her head in the crook of his neck, and tears stream down her cheeks, dripping onto his hair, which tumbles over the pillow in a cascade of soft, black waves.

“Ben.” She murmurs. She sniffs, drawing a breath. But there’s no oxygen, left. “You can’t give up on me, now. You saved me. You saved us all. Ben . . .” She pleads. “Come back to me.”

The bond is severed.

And he’s gone.

Rey closes her eyes, against the tears. Someone’s screaming. One, high, unbroken note.

A terrible brokenness weighs on her body.

Her knuckles are bone-white. His limp, gray hand is clasped in hers, and their fingers are sealed with blood.

Rey floats, riding on waves crested with sea foam.

Rey drifts, sinks.


	13. The Gray Jedi

**_Rey_ **

Rey peers at Poe through slitted eyelids, struggling to make sense of the blobs of color that float in and out of her vision. The room spins in slow circles. Poe's face is close to her, and his eyes darken with worry. His hair is matted and clumped with sweat. His lips move, but no sound reaches Rey through the haze.

Ben lies beneath her. She can feel the fabric of his clothes against her, the scent of him—sweat and smoke and a promise. She can feel the wetness of his blood.

Someone's arm slides under her knees, and a strong hand supports her back. She's lifted from the bunk, from Ben.

"No." She moans, shaking her head. The world tilts.

Someone's tugging on her fingers, and it takes her a moment to realize they're trying to pry her hand out of Ben's. His fingers are curled around her own, sealed in a white, bloodless grasp. She tightens her grip, shaking her head.

" _No_."

"Let go, Rey." Poe says, and his voice breaks. There's another, firm tug, and her hand comes free. She whimpers, protesting, as Poe carries her away. She cranes her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Ben, but a trio of officers crowd around the bunk, blocking her view. Two droids approach the bedside, supporting a Med Unit between them.

Rey's eyes flutter closed. People rush toward Poe, asking questions, and a whisper of dissent rises in the crowd.

_Kylo Ren . . ._

_Enemy . . ._

_Traitor . . ._

Poe carries Rey down the shuttle's ramp and through the Hangar. Rey keeps her eyes tightly shut, waiting for the nausea to pass. She's oddly light, dethatched, half-expecting to disintegrate and float away. She's numb.

Rey focuses on the things she does feel . . . the ache in her muscles and inside, the gash on her thigh, where Aries cut her. It's still leaking blood, and a scarlet stain spreads over her pant leg. She grounds herself in these small pains, because they distract from the bigger one. The only one that matters.

Poe lays her on a bed in the Med Bay. She catches his wrist, fingernails finding purchase on the skin of his wrist.

"I just want to sleep." She murmurs. Poe's face is taut. He looks at her, almost pained.

"Okay." He says, squeezing her hand. "Okay, Rey. I'll see if they've got something, to make it quicker."

He goes, returns with a medic in uniform, trailed by a medical droid. Rey lets them pierce her skin with a needle, attaching an IV. A cold, thick liquid enters her vein, through the tube, and Rey's body sinks. She peers at the ceiling, feeling the sharp edges melt away. The surface of the ceiling is shifting, shimmering. Her eyelids are heavy, and she lets them close, sinking into unconsciousness.

**_Poe_ **

Rey's grip on his hand slackens, and Poe lets go. He gazes at her face, unguarded and soft, in sleep. Her face is swollen with bruises and streaked with tears. There's blood on the sheets, blood staining the front of her clothes, blood caked under her fingernails and smeared over her hands.

The unidentified shuttle popped up on their tracking systems not fifteen minutes after the First Order's fleet disappeared into that shitstorm, drifting near Yavin's flagship. Poe can't shake the memory. A turbulent nebula of lightning and blue clouds and star dust, ascending from literal hell. A tear, in space, consuming everything.

They attempted to contact the shuttle, received no word from its inhabitants. Radio silence.

Poe and the Red Squadron went to investigate, docking and boarding with blasters raised. There was blood on the floor. A lot of it. And, in the hold, Kylo Ren and Rey lay on the bunk, stained scarlet, entwined like some, strange, tentacled monster.

Poe shivers. They'd had to rip her away from him, force her fingers out of the death grip in which they clutched his hand. After he watched the First Oder's total obliteration, the sight should pale in comparison.

But it doesn't.

Poe steps back, letting the medic and her team of droids work their magic. The medic cuts away the remaining fabric of Rey's pant leg, revealing a deep, singed gash in her thigh, about seven inches long. Blood leaks from the wound, staining the fresh, white sheets beneath her. The medic places an oxygen mask over Rey's nose and mouth, and steam clouds the plastic apparatus.

She's alive. She's breathing.

Poe's gaze flicks to the monitor, watching the steady, rhythmic beating of Rey's heart, rising and falling.

A commotion in the doorway seizes Poe's attention. He cranes his neck, catching a glimpse of the large, black, sprawling mass that is Kylo Ren. He's splayed on the Med Unit, ashen-faced and dead to the world. Poe crosses, peering at the man—his sworn enemy, lying unconscious and vulnerable in the Resistance Med Bay.

A horrible, ragged blaster wound ravages his chest. The skin is mended, haphazardly pulled together. He's lost a lot of blood; the man's skin is paper-white, his lips stained a horrible, purplish-blue.

Poe's comrades, Dax and Cain, lift Kylo onto a bunk. A medic approaches the bedside, pushing her fingers against his throat, feeling for a pulse. She nods.

"He's alive."

She sighs. "I'm afraid he won't last long, not without treatment. He's lost a lot of blood. He'll need a transfusion, and extensive medical attention."

"Do everything you can to keep him alive." Poe says.

"You're not serious?" Dax yelps, brows knitting.

"I am." Poe says, gravely.

"This man is a terrorist and a murderer. He doesn't deserve our help." Dax says, folding his arms. "He's better off left for dead."

Poe jerks his chin.

"That's not our way. He deserves a fair trial. We'll do what we can."

Poe sucks his bottom lip, glancing at Kylo. This is Leia's son. He owes it to her, at least, to try.

"I'm beginning to question your authority . . ."

"Fine." Poe says, mouth twitching. "Talk to D'Acy. I'm following protocol. Right now, this man is a prisoner of war. He's under our custody, and our protection." Poe pauses. "If we kill him, we're no better than . . . than  _them_." Poe jabs a finger at the window and the stars beyond, indicating the remnants of the First Order's fleet.

The medic glances between them, unsure.

"Do everything you can. We need him alive." Poe says, fiercely. "That's an order."

**_Rey_ **

She wakes, slowly, wandering through black and fog, struggling toward the light. Her eyes flutter open, and the light from overhead breaks falls in elongated, separate beams. She screws up her eyes against the brilliance. The pain, numbed by the whatever drug they gave her, returns. It hits her, a sucker-punch—sinking deep, cutting where it counts.

Rey whimpers, curling her body into C, pulling her knees to her chest. The skin of her inner arm pinches, painfully, and Rey discovers the IV. Carefully, she detaches the tube, letting it dangle. She squints, surveying her surroundings.

She's in a small room, with white flooring and white walls. It stinks of antiseptic. A pale, pink curtain is drawn across the room, separating her from another patient. Rey sighs, slumping against the pillows, watching the heart monitor. The machine whirrs and beeps, steadily, taunting her. It's proof. She's undoubtedly, hopelessly alive.

There's been a terrible mistake. She shouldn't be here. She should be dead, a thousand times over. She wants to sleep, to lay beneath the white snow, on Starkiller, and never emerge, oblivious to the world. She should be with Ben, wherever he is.

A part of her mind is struggling to wake, still. It tugs—a flutter, like eyelashes—and Rey's breath catches.

No.

It couldn't be.

But.

Rey sinks into her mindscape, reaching for that small, warm, pulsing energy awakening at the edges of her consciousness. It's there, unmistakable, a nascent sun.

Ben.

He's alive.

A choked gasp bursts from Rey's mouth before she can stop it. She clamps a hand over her lips, drawing a tremulous breath, eyes welling with tears.

She clambers out of the bed, untangling herself from the blankets. She pads across the room on sock feet, drawing the curtain. A pilot, still in uniform, lies in the bed. Thick layers of bandages are wrapped around his head, and blood licks at the edges. He's asleep.

Rey hurries past and opens the door, heart beating in her throat, sweat beading on her forehead. The floor breathes under her feet. She trails her hand along the wall, for support, and starts down the hallway, following the delicate, faint thread of light. The bond.

The hallway stretches for a time, and Rey reads the Force-signature in every room. Ben's close. He's behind any one of these doors.

The hallway ends in a pair of double doors. Rey pauses, fingers running over the knob, trying to read the room, behind.

"Rey?"

She turns, on her heel, toward the voice.

Poe's there, hands shoved in his pockets, smiling. He steps forward, hugging her. She squeezes his shoulders.

"It's good to see your eyes." He says. "You've been asleep for days."

Rey's mouth twitches.

"Where's Ben?" She asks. Poe's smile falters.

"Come on." He says, taking her elbow. "I'll show you."

Poe unlocks a door, on their left. The hall narrows, and there's only one, numbered door. Poe glances over his shoulder, then opens it, stepping aside.

Ben's lying in a glass pod, encased in a bacta suit. Rey inhales, approaching the pod. He's wearing undergarments, but his chest is bare, and Rey can see an angry, red pockmark where new skin is stretched over the wound. Her fingers rest on the glass. She wants to touch him, to feel the warmth and breath and heartbeat under her fingertips, to reassure herself that he's alive.

The bond is proof, enough. It's humming. Rising and falling, like a song. He's sleeping, deeply. She senses the soft edges of his consciousness. His mind is unguarded. The echoes of his dreams chase through her mind like children, playing hide and seek. She reaches out, tries to catch them in her hands, but they slip away like water through her fingers.

She seizes the bond and buries it deep inside the confines of her mind, as if she could keep it there and keep it safe for eons.

"The doctors say the worst time has passed." Poe says. "He'll be alright."

She shivers, fingers glancing off the surface of the pod. Poe puts a hand on her shoulder, an unspoken question.

She turns, throwing her arms around him, letting the tears fall. Poe starts, taken aback, and hugs her tightly, wrapping an arm around the small of her back. She buries her face in his shoulder, body trembling with sobs. She clings to him, and waves of relief and joy and gratitude roll off her shoulders, so entwined and smeared together in an overwhelming hysteria, it's impossible to separate one emotion from the other.

When she's cried herself out, she steps back, wiping her nose on her sleeve. There's heat in her cheeks and eyes, salt on her lips. She tries to draw a breath, and it catches in her throat.

"I'm sorry." She hiccups. Poe cocks an eyebrow, incredulous.

"Sorry? What're you sorry for?"

"I got snot on your jacket."

Rey refuses to leave his side. She curls up in a chair by the pod, sitting with her knees pressed into her chest and her fingers clasped together, tightly, until the blood seeps from her knuckles and leaves her skin white as the tiled floor.

Poe leaves, returns with a tray of food and a mug of Caf. He draws another chair beside her and takes a seat, tucking into his tray. He bites into a sandwich, chewing slowly. Rey pushes her potatoes around with a fork, making towers and castles.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" He asks.

Rey's gaze flicks to his face. She doesn't respond. Poe goes on.

"Rey, you have to understand what this means. Word travels fast. Almost everybody knows you're involved with Kylo Ren, somehow. Hell, everyone knows you lied. You told them he was dead."

"You covered for me."

Poe nods.

"I did. I did, because that's what friends do. And I just need to know, Rey. I need to know if I was right, to trust you. Because I'm not so sure, anymore."

Rey scoffs. Poe sighs, observing his shoes.

"I talked to D'Acy. She's pissed. You disobeyed orders. You ran off, abandoned us in the heat of the battle, to save the Supreme Leader of the First Order."

"He's not loyal to the First Order." Rey interjects. "Not anymore."

Poe shakes his head, frowning.

"That's beside the point. From an outsider's perspective, it looked pretty bad. You and Ren . . . it's obvious you tried to help him. I've never seen a wound heal that fast. You saved his life." He touches her shoulder, face softening. "The Force?"

Rey nods.

"I couldn't let him die . . ."

"I know." Poe nods. His eyes bore holes straight through her. "I think it's time you told me what's going on." He says. "Everything."

Rey's chest constricts. Friends don't lie. Not to each other.

Friends don't keep secrets.

"It's a long story."

Poe sighs, rubbing his eyes. His shoulders slump, and exhaustion weighs on him. He seems to age ten years.

"I've got all the time in the world. The First Order's gone. There aren't any battles left to fight. I ought to start thinking about an early retirement." He jokes, halfheartedly. It does nothing to shift the mood. The tension in the air is tangible. Poe folds his arms, cocking an eyebrow, expectantly.

She takes a breath, steeling herself.

"We're . . ." She starts, and falters. "We're bonded, by the Force."

"You're . . . what?"

"We're bonded by the Force. We can talk, even when we're not together. I know what he's thinking, what he's feeling . . ." Rey trails off, squeezing her eyes shut. Wariness and exhaustion weigh down on her. "I can feel him, right now."

"Hell . . ." Poe says, almost mystified, rubbing a spot over his left eye.

"The day he abducted me, on Takodana, he got into my head. He wanted the map to Luke, and he knew I'd seen it. When he pushed, I pushed back. And something . . . something happened." She sighs. "It's hard to put in words, but it's like our minds bridged. And I could feel his thoughts. I could see his memories, his future. Everything. You can't just lie about all that. I saw him, as he truly was, and I knew that I could trust him. That I could help him. And it was like . . ." She reaches for words, vaguely aware of Poe's wide-eyed gaze, trained on her. "It was like I'd finally found someone that  _understood_  what it was to be truly alone, in the world. He was . . . familiar. Like I'd known him my whole life. In a way, I had.

"I used to dream about him, when I was a kid. He wasn't always the man in the mask, but a presence in the light. And I knew him, or I wanted to know him. And I think . . . I think this connection, between us, is something much bigger than either of us. It's old. It stretches beyond our years. When we met, face to face, for the first time, it came awake."

Rey nibbles on her food, watching Poe's face. Poe's lips press into a thin line. His eyes find her face. When he says nothing, Rey goes on.

"On Ahch-To, we talked. He told me about his past. When we touched, I saw his future. I saw him turn. I saw his redemption. When Luke refused to return to the Resistance, I was convinced. Our last hope wasn't Luke, it was Ben.

"I went to him, and he turned on Snoke. He killed his master. For me." Rey sighs, shaking her head. Poe pushes his fingers through his hair.

"It doesn't make any sense." He says. "He's been our enemy for the better part of seven years. He was Snoke's lap dog. Why throw it all away with both hands? What changed?"

"He killed Han." Rey says. "He killed Han, and it broke him."

"And he's head over heels for you." Poe interjects. Rey swallows, staring at her plate.

"Okay, so, you still haven't explained why you disappeared. We didn't hear any word from you for a month, Rey. A  _month_. Do you have any idea what that meant, for us?" Poe's voice rises an octave, and his eyes flash, suddenly angry. Rey flinches.

"We were terrified. I organized a rescue team. We searched for you. When you didn't turn up, we thought we'd lost you, for good. And if you think running off to play Romeo and Juliet with our sworn enemy is a good excuse . . ."

Poe trails off, taking a breath. Rey starts to object, but Poe cuts her off.

"Finn fell apart, after the first few days. He broke things. It wasn't pretty." Poe's voice is barely a whisper. Somehow, that's worse. Rey wishes he'd start yelling, again. His words only twist the knife. Tears well in her eyes.

"I searched for you." She says, thickly. "I listened, on the radio. I checked the channels, I used codes. I thought I'd lost  _you_ , after the attack on Echo Base."

"We couldn't use the radio. It was too risky."

"Well, I guess it was luck, then, that you found me."

"Luck." Poe says, tasting the word. "I don't believe in luck."

Rey falls asleep in the chair, by the bacta pod. Poe left hours ago, after she finished telling her story. He didn't say a word, only touched her shoulder, lightly. The gesture, itself, said all that needed to be said.

The room is quiet, save for the beeping monitors. She watches the screen, the oxygen levels and the steady beat of his heart, eyelids drooping. The next thing she knows, someone's shaking her shoulder. She squints, in the semi-darkness.

Finn's there. He takes her hand, pulling her to her feet. Wordlessly, he leads her to bed. She tries to speak, meaning to thank him, but the words get jumbled in her throat and she's asleep before her head hits the pillow.

**_Ben_ **

Ben wakes, and the stars are the first things he registers. They spread out above him like a vast, diamond-studded ocean, so much bigger than himself. The starlight shimmers and shifts, surrounding him in a silvery aura, cascading like quicksilver and jewels, like ink in water. He watches the changing light, enraptured.

He's floating, on his back. Tentatively, he touches his chest, searching for the wound. There is none. The skin is bare and unmarked. The scar on his face, too, is gone. The pain is gone, leaving behind only soft, dull edges. His mind is foggy, oddly blank. So, he watches the stars, feeling oddly light and free. Like he could drift here for moon cycles and eons and spans of days, an infinitesimal part of the universe. Star dust.

Life is all around him. Microorganisms, drifting in the vacuum of space. Trillions of cells. Planets and worlds teeming with life. Sentient beings, violent beasts.

The Force's web links every living thing, flowing through bodies that act like conduits, a vast ocean, ebbing and flowing. It's the rhythm of life. It has a voice. It has a throbbing, beating, bleeding heart. It has poles. The darkness, and the light. And between it, gray. Silvery light. Stars.

It has existed far longer than he, and it will exist long after he is dead. It's unimaginable, in its enormity. It surpasses everything he knows, everything he's seen. He can't begin to understand it. Yet, he is a part of it.

He drifts, exalted, awash in the multitudes. In the energy, that binds all life. He is, at last, at peace.

The sky lightens, and the stars disappear. And Ben finds himself standing on a grassy hillside, overlooking an expanse of water, azure. Sunlight ripples across its surface. On the shore, a beautiful, blue-capped building rises from the foliage, ornate and elegant and crawling with ivy.

Wind brushes across Ben's face, making the tall grass and wildflowers sing. Wildflowers dust the hillside, and the surrounding valley. Ben's surroundings burst with color, purples and yellows and pinks. The sweet scent permeates the air, stirring up memories he'd kept buried, inside.

Flowers. Flowers and liquor and dying flame. Sweaty bodies and a threadbare couch and well-kissed lips. Rainfall.

Fire and flood and burning things. Fuel. A dead master and a broken apprentice. A dying spark. And a girl.

Burning petals.

Flowers, springing up in the dappled sunlight in the woods on Takodana. Skipped stones. A promise. Made, broken.

A single, desert flower, growing in the sun-scorched sands on Jakku.

It's Rey. His desert flower. A promise of life, of hope, amidst the chaos and the flames.

Rey.

The Force vibrates, culminates in a burst of blue light, just meters away. Ben squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes. The light splits in two, and twin humanoid forms materialize, cloaked in blue. Ben blinks, peering at the ghosts.

The woman is young, probably in her late twenties. A cascade of brown curls falls over her shoulders and frames her face, light and delicate. The eyes that peer at him are dark and bright, reflections of his own. She's beautiful, and familiar. There's something in her face, in her eyes . . .

The man is tall and lean, dressed in robes, with long hair and a face not unlike his own. He smiles.

"Ben."

Ben swallows, breath caught in his throat.

"Anakin." He breathes. "Grandfather." Ben glances at the young woman, Padme Amidala. His grandmother. She smiles.

"It's good to see you, Ben." She says, sweetly. She smiles, soft and sad.

He nods, at loss for words. Ben meets Anakin's gaze, the initial shock fading away.

"I . . . I  _begged_  for your help. I needed you. And you never answered." Ben says, slowly. "Why now, after all this time?"

"You weren't ready." Anakin says, simply.

"I suppose I am, now?"

"There are things you should know."

"And you're here to show me some grand prophecy?" Ben snaps. "I don't need your counsel."

"Not a prophecy." Anakin says. "A past life."

"The past must  _die_." Ben snaps.

Anakin jerks his chin.

"You're wrong."

"The past has brought me nothing but pain. I want to be free of it." Ben says.

"The past is a teacher. Without it, you'll never learn." Anakin says.

Ben objects, but Padme lays a hand on his shoulder. She fixes him with a hard stare, eyes flashing with annoyance and disappointment. But there's something tender, in her gaze, too. Kindness. A secret, well-hidden softness. For a moment, she reminds him so much of Rey it takes him aback.

"Come, Ben." She says, offering her hand. "Let me show you."

He hesitates, steeling himself, and takes it. Her slender fingers wrap around his own, and a thread of energy tugs at his navel. He's thrust into a memory, another life. His surroundings are unchanged. The ornate building on the distant shore— _Varykino_ , Padme whispers, in his ear—glistens with afternoon sunlight.

Laughter drifts, on the breeze. Ben turns. The ghosts of his grandparents are gone, replaced with the flesh and bone versions of themselves, young and happy and full of life. They lie on the hillside, among the wildflowers, talking. They're at peace . . . in love. The memory changes, and Ben's watching their wedding. A white headdress, beaded and patterned with white flowers, adorns Padme's head. They seal the union against a bleeding, red sun.

The scene changes, again, and fragments of thought and memory flash before his eyes. Padme's pregnancy, Anakin's growing allegiance to Palpatine, the darkness, inside him. He turned, to save her. In the end, it destroyed him.

Ben watches, horrified, as Anakin, wild with anger and paranoia, darkness choking out his light, stalks in front of Padme's smaller form. She's pleading with him, begging him to come back, to make things right . . .

His fingers clench into a tight fist, and Padme's hands fly to her throat, clawing at the invisible force, choking the air from her lungs.

"Enough." Ben says, and the scene dissolves. He takes a breath, staggering to his knees. The memory still courses through his veins like a virus. He can hear Padme's unsuccessful attempts to draw a breath, the furious, agonized screams of his grandfather, burning. It's the darkness' swan song. It's a pulsing, beating heart, driving the toxins into his body, ripping his flesh.

_No._

He  _worshipped_  Darth Vader. Now, he knows the truth. He knew his grandfather was a Jedi before he turned to the darkness. He knew Anakin fell in love with the former queen of Naboo. He'd always been told she'd died in childbirth. But, this . . .

This is beyond anything he'd ever dreamed.

He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to be like him, the monster called Darth Vader. Part of him knows it's too late. That he can't hope to ever redeem himself, when finds joy in murder, savors the sound of bodies falling to the floor at his feet, when he lets rage and hate overwhelm him such that he can't string two coherent thoughts together. How could he have ever thought there was a chance for him, in the light? He's nothing but Snoke's puppet. A monster, ruled by a master.

Suddenly, he understands what the mirror was trying to tell him. He's taking a good, long look at his reflection, and he hates the twisted, broken creature staring back at him. Ben's eyes trace the scar, trailing from the bridge of his nose to his neck, slipping under the collar of his shirt.

_You have too much of your father's heart, young Solo._

_You'll never be as strong as Darth Vader._

_The deed split your spirit to the bone._

Snoke was right, in the end. He killed Han, his father, and it destroyed him. And it took a scavenger from Jakku—his desert flower, his princess, his past, present, and future—to realize it. But she isn't done with him. Fate isn't done with either of them.

Suddenly, Ben's staring not at himself but Rey, in the mirror. His eyes trace her face, the geography of her body. The column of her neck, the sweep of collar bones, her breasts, the hardened muscles and lean frame and calloused hands. Her hair, those beautiful, dark tresses. Her eyes, flashing jade. Her lips, pink and soft. Those lips are hallowed ground, a church. His solace, in a burning, shattered world.

She blinks, lashes glistening with tears, and wraps her arms around him. He clutches her to his body, a choked gasp escaping his lips. Her light subdues the darkness, almost instantly, balancing him, grounding him, and he realizes what it means to make a choice. She's his guiding light, in the darkness. And if this is weakness, if he's got his father's heart, so be it. Because she's worth it. She's everything.

It's not too late, for him.

"It wasn't too late for Anakin, either." Rey says, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. Her hand rests against his cheek. "Come back to me, Ben."

She dissolves, and Ben's fingers tighten into fists, clutching at thin air. Anakin and Padme appear, at his side. He turns, facing them, cheeks wet with tears.

"Don't make the same mistakes." Anakin says. Padme cups his cheek, wiping away his tears with her thumb.

"There's hope for you, yet." She says. "But you'll have to make the choice for yourself."

Ben nods, meeting their eyes, in turn.

"I've made my choice."

Ben's eyes snap open. He gasps, drawing a breath. He sits up, and his head knocks into a cool, hard surface. He claws at the air, disoriented, and the surface above him unseals, falling away. A wall of cold air hits his face, and he coughs, reaching for breath, trying to calm the rapid, stuttering beat of his heart. He groans, reaching for purchase on the surface beneath him. He's moving. At first, he thinks he must be floating in water. He registers the bacta suit, and understands.

He rips at the suit with his fingernails, and the tubes attached to the apparatus fall away, leaking bacta liquid. He finds the clasp and undoes it, clambering out of the suit. A loud alarm chirps, from the monitor, and he ignores it.

He tries to stand, but his legs are unsteady, trembling and unable to support his weight. He grasps the edge of the pod, for balance, peering at his bare chest. There's a faint, pink mark where the blaster wound should be. Nothing more. It won't even leave a scar.

He's wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. His skin is slick, coated with bacta. There's an IV in his arm. He grasps the needle and pulls it free.

A medic rushes through the door, eyes wide.

"Where's Rey?" He demands. The man reaches for his commlink with shaking fingers. Ben knocks it to the floor, swiping a hand over the man's eyes, pushing into his mind. "You will show me to her, immediately." Ben commands. The man smiles, pleasantly, looking dazed.

"Of course, this way."

The medic, per Ben's request, retrieves a clean shirt and pants from a supply compartment. Ben pulls the garments on, and follows the medic, through a door and down a narrow hallway. The tiles are cold, under his bare feet.

He's at the Resistance Base. As much as it would normally irk him, he's preoccupied with finding Rey. There's a lapse in his memory, on the  _Raven's_  bridge. He needs to know she's alive, she's okay.

The medic leads him down a flight of stairs, through a pair of doors, and down another hallway. A pair of officials pass them, in the corridor. The shorter man's eyes flick over Ben's face. His eyes narrow, as the realization hits him. He reaches for his blaster.

Ben draws the weapon out of his hand, stilling the pair with a flick of his wrist. In his distraction, the medic breaks free of Ben's mental grasp. He's yelling into the comm, on the wall, and Ben sighs, biting his lip. The door, on the left, bursts open, and several officials surround him, blasters raised, shouting. Ben releases his grip on the man's wrist, holding his hands above his head, in surrender. An officer hurries forward, attaching cuffs around his wrists.

They march him down the hallway and onto a turbolift. Ben says nothing, letting the Resistance officers take him to the detention block. He steps through the door, too exhausted and heartsick to resist.

"No funny business." The officer says, rapping the barrel of his blaster on the doorway.

"Bring Rey to me." Ben demands. The officer shoots him a sideways glance, scoffing. Ben growls, frustrated. "I want to see her." A beat. "Please."

The officer glares at him, and leaves the detention block. Ben slams a cuffed fist against the wall, expletives spilling from his mouth.

"I need to see her!"

**_Rey_ **

She's in the cafeteria picking at her breakfast when Poe taps her on the shoulder, motioning for her to follow. She does, eggs and toast forgotten, and trails him until they're well out of earshot.

"Ren's awake." He says.

Her eyes widen. She rushes off, in the direction of the Med Bay.

"Rey, wait." Poe catches her elbow. "He's not in the Med Bay."

Rey's brows knit, together.

"What? Where is he?"

Poe falters.

"You're not gonna like it."

He leads her down to the detention block, pausing to unlock the nearest, high-security cell. Rey's gaze traverses the cramped room, eyes locking on Ben's face. She launches herself into his arms.

He staggers against her weight, cupping the small of her back, awkwardly, the use of his arms hindered by the shackles on his wrists. Poe rushes forward and unlocks them, and Ben lets them fall away.

He cups Rey's cheek with his hand, and tears cut traces down his cheeks. He's looking at her with a kind of burning intensity that makes entire star systems seem infinitesimal, compared the light of his eyes.

"Ben." She chokes. She props herself on tip-toes and kisses him. He kisses her, back, with the same, insistent, almost frantic intensity that leaves her breathless.

"Rey." He says, against her lips, and her name is a shiver, on his breath. A leaf, in the crisp, autumn wind. A fluttering bird's wing.

"Alright, that's enough P.D.A. for my taste." Poe says, clearing his throat. He smiles, cockily. Ben glowers at Poe, looking like he wants nothing more than to strangle him. Rey lays a hand on his shoulder, reading the changing tides of his emotions.  _Resentment . . . jealousy . . ._

The detention block's door slides open, and a Nubian official enters, looking furious.

"Dameron." He snaps. "You don't have clearance to release prisoners from the detention block."

"Who ordered his transfer from the Med Bay?" Poe demands.

"He didn't transfer. He escaped." The officer retorts, coolly.

"This is ridiculous." Rey snaps. Ben shifts his weight, beside her, and she lays a hand over his wrist, index finger pushing against his pulse. "Release him!"

"He's under custody. He cannot be released until his trial is held and his fate is decided."

Poe lays a hand on her shoulder. "C'mon, Rey."

Rey shrugs away from his touch, furious.

"What trial?"

Poe sighs. "He's a prisoner of war. Technically, he's under our custody. A trial will be held, he'll appear before a panel and a judge." He explains. "It's protocol, Rey."

The officer brandishes his blaster in Ben's direction. "Get those cuffs back on, and get out." He stares at Rey, coldly. "Watch your step, traitor." He warns. "Or you'll end up in there, with him."

Rey ignores him, turning toward Ben. She hugs him, wrapping her arms around his neck, breathing him in.

"I'll see you soon." She says. "I promise."

The night before the trial, Rey lies in her assigned bunk, restless. Sleep doesn't come, and she stares into the shadows, thoughts turning over and over. A million different scenarios play out in her head, each one worse than the last. She knows Ben's chances of getting off, exempt from punishment, are impossibly slim—almost nonexistent. What will they do, if he's charged? Banish him? Execute him? Subject him to torture, for information? She shivers, countless methods of cruel and unusual punishment flitting through her brain. She squeezes her eyes shut and blows out a long breath, suddenly nauseous.

D'Acy will do everything in her power to make sure Ben never sees the light of day, again. Rey's certain. She also knows the majority of the Resistance share the same sentiments toward him. But they also trust (trusted) her. If Finn and Poe back her, if she can make an adequate case for him, convince them he's deserving of a second chance, well . . .

Maybe.

Maybe they've got a shot.

His mind brushes against hers, gently. The bond opens, and he's there, lying beside her, in the bunk. She rolls on her side, facing him, and he gazes into her face.

He says nothing. His fingers twine themselves into her hair, trailing to caress her cheekbone, her jaw.

"Ben." She says, softly, voice barely a shiver, in the air. She opens her mouth, to express her worries, her fears, how  _terrified_  she is, for tomorrow. For the ruling that could seal their fate, forever.

 _What if I lose you?_ She wants to ask.  _You promised me we'd find the stars, do you remember? You promised we'd travel the galaxy, until the thousand suns in the night sky give way to darkness, until the galaxy becomes nothing, and we are both dust in the ground. You promised we'd build a new order, you and I. You promised we'd go somewhere. Somewhere we'd be free, together._

Ben gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, planting a kiss on the soft skin between her eyes. She closes them, breathing in his scent. Like bacta and antiseptic, but beneath all that,  _him_. Something like pine, like snow, like smoke and ash and sea breeze.

"Whatever comes . . . tomorrow, in ten years, in a hundred, they can't touch us." He says. "We're invincible." His mouth twitches, into a small, sad smile. "And I intend to keep my promise."

"Promise?" She asks, and her voice is that of a small child's.

"Promise."

She closes her eyes, then, and her head finds the place where his heart beats, in his chest, steady and strong—a life line, a constant. His arm encircles her, pulling her tighter, against him. Sheltering her from the monsters, in the dark.

The war is not over. There are many battles left to fight. But as long as there is breath in her lungs, as long as his heartbeat keeps time with her own, as long as he's there, in the darkness, when everything else is reduced to ash, she will fight. Because he's enough. He's always been enough.

On the morning of the trial, Rey wakes to an empty bed. She's disoriented, expecting to open her eyes and find him there, beside her. But, of course, he's three floors down, in the prison block. His scent clings to her body, to the sheets, and she wonders if it's an illusion, like a phantom limb.

She drags herself out of bed and into the refresher, scrubbing her body clean, washing away the peeling, scabbed skin on her wounds. The bruises left by the conflict in Hux's throne room are beginning to turn an awful, greenish yellow. The soreness is fading, and the gash on her leg is healing.

She steps out of the shower and regards her naked reflection in the mirror, taking in the collection of scars that mark her skin. They're a map of her life, of the battles she's fought, of the things she's seen. A lump forms in her throat, looking at herself. Where the skin was once unblemished, in her youth, it is now flecked with freckles and sunspots, marked with scrapes and cuts and bruises and and scars. She dwells on her reflection a bit longer, blinking back the hot, wetness in her eyes, then tears herself away. She dresses quickly, in long, elegant gray robes.

Rey's just stepping outside her compartment, lightsaber clipped to her built, when her commlink pings, summoning her to the command center, in the palace. She pauses, outside the door, steeling herself, and steps inside. D'Acy's waiting for her. Her usual, simple uniform has been replaced with something more elegant. A deep, violet cape drapes over her shoulders and sweeps to the floor. A Rebel Alliance pin glints on her collar. She regards Rey with an even, expressionless stare. Rey starts to speak, but D'Acy silences her.

"Commander Dameron explained the situation." D'Acy says. Her mouth forms a thin line. "It's no excuse for desertion, but I suppose we can let bygones be bygones."

"I'm sorry." Rey says. "I needed to find my place, in the Force and the rebellion, and I've found it."

"Good." D'Acy nods. "You will have the opportunity to tell your side of the story, at the trial. The process is fair, but I'm afraid Kylo Ren has committed such treasonous acts, the chances of a favorable sentence are slim, at best."

Rey nods, insides squirming, unpleasantly. D'Acy goes on.

"I regret to inform you, you've been stripped of your commanding title, after your blatant refusal to follow orders." The general tells her. Rey nods, glumly. She expected it. Part of her is relieved. She's not fit to be a leader. Her place is with the Force, and with Ben. She doesn't belong in meetings, nor at dinner parties, forming battle strategies and entertaining diplomats. She's not a soldier. She's not a politician.

D'Acy dismisses Rey, and she goes, relieved.

In the hall, she runs, quite literally, into Poe. She springs back, an apology on her lips, and falls silent. His face is weary, and dark bags hang under his eyes. His eyes are wild, alight with something—fear? Insanity?

"Poe, what's—"

"Follow me." He says, tugging on her arm. She does, and he takes off, down the corridor. She struggles to keep up, taking two steps to match every one of his long, hurried strides.

"What's going on?" She demands.

"I'm getting you out. You, and Ren." Poe glances over his shoulder, worriedly. "Hurry. We don't have much time."

"Getting us out? What d'you mean?"

Poe stops, grabbing her shoulders.

"They're going to execute him." He says, frowning. "There's talk. It won't be pretty. There's nothing you can do or say to change their mind. He's as good as dead, the minute he steps up to that panel."

Rey's stomach sinks to the floor.

"You're sure?" She says, voice faltering. As his words sink in, she knows it's true. She's naïve, if she expects them to show mercy to the man who killed countless in their ranks, obliterated their fleets and their worlds . . .

Poe nods. "Positive."

He continues, up the corridor, into the turbolift. He punches a button, and they begin their decent.

"I can buy you enough time to get Ren and get as far away from here as fast as you can." Poe says.

Rey falls silent, mulling it over. She turns to him, placing her palm over his hand.

"Why are you doing this?" She asks, gazing at his face. His eyes flit to the floor, then rest on her face.

"I didn't believe in the Force. Not really. Not until I met you. And I think if all that stuff's possible, well, then fate and purpose and destiny are, too. And if we've all got a purpose in this world, he's yours. You're my friend, Rey. I know you. I trust you. You're not happy here, it's obvious. If you've got a chance at a better life, one with peace and purpose, who am I to deny it?" Poe sighs. "You would do the same for me. And it's the right thing to do. I owe it . . ." Poe trails off, gaze finding the floor. When his eyes return to her face, they've got the overbright quality of someone attempting to hold back tears. "I owe it to Leia."

Rey swallows the lump in her throat, nodding, and her gratitude and love for him is so strong, in that moment, she thinks her heart might burst.

The turbolift doors slide open, and Poe leads her into hall, outside the prison block. There, a familiar face awaits them.

"Finn!" Rey says, and throws her arms around him.

"Rey." He breathes, hugging her.

"Finn, what's the word?" Poe asks.

"I've got the release form. Signed by D'Acy, herself." Finn says, mischief glinting in his eyes. He smirks, brandishing the papers at Poe. "I hope this works."

"It will." Poe says, nodding. "Just, stay here." He says, and pushes through the door.

Rey presses her ear against the door, listening. A muffled voice on the other side regards Poe, suspiciously. He asks a question, one Rey can't make out. Poe answers, faltering, and the guard's voice rises, angrily. She winces, looking at Finn.

"I don't think it's working." She says, turning the knob.

"Rey, wait—"

She ignores him, entering the prison block. She wills the Force to guide her, entering the man's mind, subduing his will. He resists, at first, and eventually succumbs to her mental probing.

"You will release Kylo Ren from the prison block." She says, slowly, calmly. The guard nods.

"Of course."

He taps a command on his control panel, and the doors of Ben's cell slide open. He steps out, eyes locking on Rey's face. He's been given access to a shower, and clean clothes. All in preparation for the trial, Rey guesses. He's dressed in pants and a gray doublet. Rey blinks, taken aback by the absence of his usual, black clothing.

"You will unlock the cuffs." She tells the guard. He obliges, instantly, and the shackles on his wrists open. He cocks an eyebrow, at Rey.

Rey turns to the guard. "You will forget this happened. You will forget we came, and you will forget our names. You will speak of this to no one." She says. The guard nods, dumbly.

"Of course."

Rey turns, approaching Ben, cupping his cheek in her palm.

"What's happening?" Ben asks.

"We're getting out." She says. "We're leaving. Together."

The  _Falcon_ is waiting for them in the hangar. Rey turns to Poe.

"The  _Falcon_ , how did you—"

"I pulled some strings." He says, cutting her off. "It's a long story, for another time."

"What about Chewie? The  _Falcon_ 's his as much as it's ours."

"Chewie returned to Kashyyyk." Poe says. He looks at Ben. "He said Han meant for you to have it."

Ben's eyes flick to Poe's face, and his mouth twitches as he wars with himself, battling his demons.

"Thank you." Ben says, finally.

Rey feels her chest swell, her spirits lift. For a moment, Luke and Leia's golden light envelope her, in the Force. The warmth spreads from her chest to her whole body, tingling in her fingers and flowing into her fingers, clasped in Ben's hand. She catches his eye, and a flicker of  _something_ crosses his face, and she knows he feels it, too.

The hangar is manned by two Nubian lieutenants. One of the pair, a woman of thirty, stops them, asking for clearance. Rey dissuades her, and she lets them pass. Rey lowers the Falcon's ramp, turning to Finn and Poe. It hits her, then.  _This is goodbye._ Her heart climbs into her throat. She looks at them, each, blood rushing in her ears, tears spilling over her lashes. She turns to Poe, stepping toward him.

"Thank you." She says, pulling him into a hug. "For everything."

Poe nods.

"Keep in touch, Rey from Nowhere."

She smiles, turning to Finn.

"Finn . . ." She begins. He shakes his head.

"This isn't goodbye forever, Rey." His voice breaks, on her name. Rey nods, drawing a shaky breath.

"You're right." She says, thickly. Finn pulls her into a tight embrace, and she buries her head in his chest, relishing the feeling, thanking the Force and the stars above for his friendship, his trust. He draws away, holding her at arm's length. His thumb brushes a tear from her cheek.

"Take care of yourself." She nods, taking his hand, squeezing it.

"I'll see you soon."

Ben stands stiffly at her side. She takes his hand, gazing into his face. His eyes, dark and deep and gentle, fix on her face. She smiles.

"Let's go."

Rey sits in the cockpit, watching Naboo fade into a smear of light and color as the  _Falcon_ jumps to hyperspace. Ben is in the Main Hold. A turmoil of emotions flicker just under his surface, and Rey knows it's in his best interest to be alone, with the  _Falcon_ , with his ghosts. With Han.

Eventually, Rey hears his footsteps nearing, and he enters the cockpit, dropping into the chair, beside her. She turns, gazing at him, unsurprised to find the overbright remnants of tears in his eyes. She takes his hand, shivering as their flesh makes contact. She hears the ghost of a small boy's laughter, as he runs through the ship's gangways, struggling to keep up with his father's long-legged stride.

Rey squeezes Ben's hand.

"This is it." She says.

"This is it." He repeats.

He fists his hand in her hair and kisses her.

She smiles, against his lips. He pulls away, and she climbs out of the chair, pressing her body against him, kissing him with fervor. Her hands snake up his back, fisting in his hair. His lips tease her earlobe, and waves of pleasure ripple throughout her body. Her breath quickens. Suddenly, there's not enough oxygen in the cockpit.

Ben gathers her in his arms, planting kisses along her jaw, her neck. He lays her on the mattress, in the Falcon's Crew Quarters, removing his shirt, fumbling with her belt. She helps, removing her trousers, her cloak, her shirt, until she's in her undergarments. Her hands roam his body, caressing every inch of skin within reach. He moans, shivering, and she feels his pleasure, his adoration, over the bond.

"Rey?" Ben asks, pausing, taking her face in his hands.

"Ben."

"I love you."

After, they lay on the bunk. Ben lies on his belly, arm slung across her, protectively. She lies on her side, brushing his hair back from his eyes. She sighs, gazing at his face, thinking of the lifetime, ahead.

They'll build a new order, together. A temple, to train young Force-users in the ways of the Gray Jedi. They'll teach balance. Control, yes. Passion, also. And a choice.

She thinks of Finn, of Poe. She'll see them again, she's certain. She knows it as she knows there are stars in the sky.

She closes her eyes, listening to slow, steady breathing of the man, beside her. Enjoying his presence, his company, the serenity of the moment.

He is the sun, the stars. He is everything.

And they're free.


End file.
